Blade of Madness
by Shedemei
Summary: Sweeney Todd desperately wants his Lucy back. Mrs. Lovett insists that madness can kill a person just as a razor can. Gradual Sweenett. Complete!
1. Revelations

Blade of Madness

Chapter One: Revelations

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed. Not Sweenett…yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna, eventual Sweenett (maybe)

Author's Notes: This is my second Sweeney Todd fic, and my first full-length one. Just a warning: updates will be sporadic and unpredictable (if they exist at all) until I graduate from high school in June. Oh, and in terms of the songs in the musical, this story begins after "God, That's Good" but before "By the Sea."

* * *

It was a night like any other on Fleet Street.

Sweeney Todd occasionally wondered why it did not trouble him in the slightest to sit in the barber chair where so many had met their ends. But tonight, the thought did not cross his mind as he reclined, the cold silver of the moon pooling in the face of his friend. It rested in his palm, clean and calm and cool, assuring him that one day its blade would sink into the throat of Judge Turpin. A slow, mirthless smile curled his lips as he imagined it; the brief resistance before the flesh gave, the hot hissing rush of blood, the judge gasping and guttering…

A clatter from downstairs broke his reverie, and Sweeney's expression turned sour. No doubt Mrs. Lovett was cleaning up after a long day in the pie shop, but did she have to be so bloody noisy? Not for the first time, he wondered if he should kill her after Turpin was dead. At first, he had been grateful to her for her help, for returning his razors to him and for disposing of his victims, but recently she had been such a nuisance. She was always making noise, singing or humming or clamoring in the kitchen, and constantly babbling about one thing or another when he was around. And something else: she used any excuse to be near him, and she was oddly clingy, often reaching out to squeeze his shoulder or trying to link her arm through his—she'd even made an attempt to touch her lips to his cheek that morning. What exactly her problem was, he had no idea. But if she didn't cease to be so irritating, it might mean her death after Sweeney had gotten his revenge, it very well might…

The sounds from downstairs distracted him again. He heard men's voices. That was strange; the pie shop should have been closed. More noises, sounding like a scuffle, accompanied by Mrs. Lovett shouting in anger. Were there intruders in the pie shop, then? There was more hollering, clattering, then a resounding thud. Mrs. Lovett's voice came again, the tone very, very different this time. It sounded like…a cry for help?

* * *

Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium had been flooded with hungry customers that day, which meant Nellie Lovett herself was exhausted but content. She had already ground the meat (which she had obtained courtesy of Mr. Todd) for tomorrow and placed it in the icehouse, ready to be baked into pies in the morning. All that was left to do was to tidy up the kitchen. She was doing the job alone, as Toby had gone to bed long ago, but she didn't mind being alone with her thoughts for a few moments. As she scrubbed the countertop, her mind wandered upstairs to her neighbor. He was likely stroking his razors and brooding about revenge. She'd have trouble getting meat after Mr. Todd killed the judge and wouldn't feel the need to slit his customers' throats anymore, but she had plenty saved up now. She might even be able to close up the shop, and then she and Mr. Todd could move to the seaside. The notion brought a smile to her face.

The sound of creaking wood not a few feet away caught her attention. Three hulking shadows were clustered at the front door of her shop. Through the window, she saw a dull glint from something clenched in one shadow's meaty fist, and that something was grating heavily against the lock.

Nellie's heart leapt into her throat. Robbers! Fleet Street was not exactly in one of London's safest neighborhoods, and her shop's success made her a target here. Armed with her rolling pin, she could dispatch one or even two robbers, but this would be a challenge. She reached into a drawer and withdrew her weapon, fingers clenched around one handle. She swallowed hard, as if to force her hammering heart back into her chest.

"The shop is closed!" she shouted as brazenly as she could, lifting her rolling pin so the thugs could see it. She hoped that the sight of her weapon would be enough that the would-be robbers would be dissuaded, but not necessarily provoked into a display of bravado by a diminutive cudgel-wielding baker. "Get away!"

No such luck. They laughed at her as they forced the door open and piled into her shop. The one with the crowbar towered over her and was as solid and hulking as his fist had warned he would be. The second was not quite as tall, but just as beefy, and the third one was both the tallest and thinnest of the three. Their faces were cloaked in shadow, contorting their ugly features into misshapen lumps. They stank of smoke and alcohol and the first one leered at her with his thick lips and drunken eyes.

Nellie gripped her rolling pin hard.

"Put down the rollin' pin and just stand to the side, and we won't 'urt you, that's a good girl." The second one's voice was a low rumble, not as slurred as she expected.

"I won't. Get out of me shop!" She raised her weapon above her head. The thugs snickered.

"Feisty lil' slattern, isn't she?" That was the first man, the one with the crowbar, and he sounded much more inebriated than his companion who had already spoken.

"Get out!" She swung the rolling pin at the intruder with the crowbar, slamming it into his shoulder, and tremors from the impact rocked her from wrist to elbow. He yelped and dropped the tool as Nellie attacked again, the paunchy stomach of the second invader bending around the shaft of the rolling pin. She hefted it a third time and the last robber backed away from her. Her arms trembled with fear and exertion as she swung, missing by a hair's breadth, and she realized just a second too late that the two burglars behind her had only been temporarily disabled and surely they would come after her if she didn't turn around and assail them again…

An enormous fist crashed into the small of her back. She reeled, barely able to keep her hold and the rolling pin. It slipped in her damp, sweaty hands. Nellie scrambled to her feet as she felt herself dragged from behind. Panic seized her and she could almost feel the blood charging through her veins as she struggled and kicked and lashed out. Somehow the rolling pin was knocked from her hands.

"That's enough!" the second one bellowed as the man who had been holding the crowbar finally got a firm hold on Nellie's arms.

"Lemme go!" She fought uselessly, and her captor laughed.

"Keep a good strong 'old on 'er, Jerry. We'll take care of the rest." The second man, apparently the ringleader, smirked at her. She felt the uncontrollable urge to spit in his face, and she acted on it.

"Well, I still get me spoils, don't I?" complained Jerry even as his companion shouted in disgust and wiped his eyes.

"Just keep that wench still!" The leader snarled. "Get over 'ere, Bill! Apparently this little harpy's pie shop 'as been turning a fine profit, so let's see 'ow much of this profit we can get our 'ands on, eh?"

"You bastards!" Nellie shouted, straining to extricate her arms from Jerry's ham-like hands as the two other thugs sauntered to the counter and began searching the various drawers for the place where she kept her money. "If me neighbor upstairs finds you 'ere, 'e will kill you for sure!"

All three of them snorted with laughter and the one called Bill spoke for the first time, in a voice layered with drunkenness and sarcasm. "Aye, and 'e's sure to take care of you, isn't 'e?"

"Pretty wench like you," came Jerry's slur from behind her, but there was no irony in his tone, and her flesh crawled when she felt his hot stinking breath on her cheek.

Everything happened very quickly after that. The abrupt, painful solidness of the floor against her back came out of nowhere. The jarring sound of fabric being rent filled her ears, and the air was cold, a warning striking her vulnerable skin.

It was only when she saw the robber Jerry's ugly leering face looming over her that she even knew to scream.

"Mr. Todd! Mr. Todd, _help me_!"

* * *

Sweeney fingered his razor as he slowly descended the stairs. He needed his pie maker to continue hiding his victims, but if Mrs. Lovett was clingy _now_, he shuddered to think how irritating she would become if he came to her rescue. He would help her only if her life were in danger, he decided. From what he had heard, it was likely whoever had entered the pie shop was beating her in order to subdue her. Well, maybe being bruised and battered would take her down a peg and she would be less obnoxious.

He quietly surveyed the scene from midway down the steps. Two robbers were rooting through the drawers in the pie shop's counter. A third had a struggling Mrs. Lovett on her back on the floor, her dress torn halfway off. None of the intruders seemed to be armed. So his baker would likely be a bit shaken the following day, but still able to make the pies, which was all that mattered.

The barber turned his back on the grim tableau, ignoring Mrs. Lovett's shouts of fear and pain—still occasionally screaming for help, even. Stupid woman, didn't she realize he wasn't going to come to her aid? Sweeney was already upstairs before Mrs. Lovett's attacker had the presence of mind to stifle her yells. A sour expression crossed his face as he sank into the chair. He certainly had nothing good to say about that particular robber's taste.

With the noises mostly absent now, he gazed into the blank glistening countenance of his friend, and his smile returned.

* * *

Nellie huddled against the wall, curling herself into the smallest shape possible. She felt oddly detached from her shaking, violated body, the lungs still choked by a foreign stench, the skin ravaged by creeping sensations of revulsion. Maybe there was blood tricking down her thighs, or maybe she was imagining it, the way she'd imagined hearing Mr. Todd's footsteps on the staircase. He rarely slept and she knew it, surely he had heard her scream—why hadn't he come downstairs? Why had he abandoned her?

She forced herself to sit up halfway, vaguely aware of the floorboards scraping her elbows raw. All three invaders were clustered around the counter, grumbling. They wouldn't find her money, she thought with a faint sense of triumph; she kept all of it stored in various hiding spots in her bedroom. As she lifted limp body up more, her quivering fingers brushed something familiar, smooth-textured and hard, that moved slightly away from her as she touched it. Her fallen rolling pin.

Nellie Lovett reached out slowly to clamp her hand around her weapon, and as she stood and steadied herself, it seemed to melt into her palm, so easily lifted, so easily swung.

They thought she was finished. They thought she was done fighting. They never heard her sneaking up from behind.

The rolling pin slammed into Jerry's skull with a satisfying _crack_. He dropped to the floor like a stone, and the other two jumped, staring at her as if she were a ghost.

"I said, _get out_!" The words ripped themselves out of her throat as she lost control, wielding a simple rolling pin like a battle-axe, raining blow after blow on the two remaining invaders. Caught off-guard, they could only lift their arms in defense, which she smashed out of her way as she charged at them, a woman possessed by shame turned to rage.

It almost surprised her when she saw them running down the street in front of her and she realized that she had chased them out of the shop. She stood still for a moment, watching them run, barely able to believe what she had just done. As she stepped backward, she glanced over her shoulder and saw the bulky corpse of her assailant lying behind her, and the separation between her consciousness and her body was severed.

The rolling pin fell to the floor and she followed it, her arms wrapped around her own body as if in an embrace. She felt steeped in dirt, horribly compelled to scrub every inch of her skin until she bled.

Nellie covered her face with her hands and wept.

* * *

The first thing Sweeney Todd managed to think was: _Bloody hell_.

When he had heard Mrs. Lovett scream the second time, he had proceeded downstairs again to see if he had been wrong and her life actually was in danger. But instead of seeing his neighbor in mortal danger, he had seen her beating the living daylights out of robbers twice her size using only a rolling pin.

He watched as she chased the thugs out of her shop and then collapsed on the floor, sobbing. Well, what the blazes was wrong with her? She had just expelled three thugs (well, expelled two and killed one) by herself and now she was in a puddle of tears.

He walked all the way down the stairs. He had to see whether or not she was still fit to work.

She gasped and leapt to her feet when she noticed him. "Mr. T!"

Sweeney turned his head to the side, faintly disgusted. "For God's sake, cover yourself up."

Mrs. Lovett wrapped her torn dress around herself. "Sorry, love, I just…wasn't thinkin' about…" She trailed off, wiping the tears from her face. "So you didn't 'ear me cryin' for 'elp, then, but you can figure out what 'appened."

"No. I heard you."

She looked up at him, eyes wide with shock and betrayal. "So…so why didn' you…?"

"What? Come rescue you?" He couldn't resist adding a bit of disbelief to his tone.

"Yes!"

"Tell me somethin,' Mrs. Lovett. If I had come to your rescue, how would you have reacted?"

"Well, I'd…I'd 'ave been right grateful!"

"And do you think I'd enjoy you followin' me around _gratefully_?"

She took a few steps backward, shaking her head in disbelief. "When I told you what 'appened to your wife, you asked me why no one 'elped 'er, and you let the same thing 'appen to me? Because you don't like me bein' grateful to you?"

"Do _not _compare yourself to Lucy," he snarled.

"I'm not comparin' meself to 'er! I'm just sayin'…"

"I don't want you hangin' all over me. I came down here to see if you were fit to work in the pie shop tomorrow."

Mrs. Lovett tightened her grip on her ripped gown. "So that's it. You wouldn't save me from bein'…attacked, and all you care about is whether or not I can still bake."

Sweeney did not think it necessary to reply. Instead, he turned and walked back up the stairs.

"Mr. Todd!" Now she was clinging to his arm, and starting to cry again. What did she expect from him, love and kisses?

"Get off." He pulled his sleeve from her fingers.

"Mr. Todd!" She called after him again, voice breaking, as he made his way to his barbershop. He did not turn around or even reply, and Mrs. Lovett realized that if she were looking for sympathy, she wouldn't get any from Sweeney Todd.

Nellie sank to the bottom step, chin in hand. She did not feel like tidying up the pie shop. She would much rather tidy herself up, but she was not sure there was enough water in London, in all of England, to wash her clean.

* * *

The demon barber of Fleet Street was in an especially foul mood the following day. He slept very little—his bloodlust was all he needed to keep himself awake, and he had learned in prison that sleep was a time of vulnerability and night terrors—so he was not irritated from lack of sleep. But the nighttime hours after Mrs. Lovett went to sleep were the most peaceful, and he could contemplate his revenge uninterrupted. Unfortunately, Mrs. Lovett had not slept any more than Mr. Todd. From the sounds Mr. Todd had heard, his neighbor had taken at least four baths and then been unable to sleep due to either nightmares or distraction. So when the morning came, he again paid a visit to Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium to see if the pies would be baked.

Mrs. Lovett looked horrendous—or at least, more horrendous than usual—but she was already busy, mixing up the dough for the pies with just a touch less than her usual vigor. Her eyes were sunken and ringed, likely from both crying and sleep deprivation, and her wild, frizzy auburn hair was wilder and frizzier than he had ever seen it. She greeted him with a "Morning, Mr. T." and an attempt at a smile.

"I see you're bakin' already. Good."

"I know you need me to be workin' like always today. And, well…anythin' for you, Mr. Todd."

Wordlessly, he made to return to his barbershop.

"Mr. T., wait."

He waited, certain he was not going to like what he was about to hear.

"You know, it 'urts me you didn't come 'elp me when I needed you last night."

He didn't care, so he said nothing. He had developed a habit of meeting this sort of comment from Mrs. Lovett with either silence or indifference, believing that she would be less productive if he hurt her feelings. Then again, maybe she would simply be less annoying. After all, she had just said she would do anything for him, whatever that was supposed to mean.

"You know I care about you, right?"

Sweeney did not like where this was going. He did not like that half-hopeful, half-affectionate look in Mrs. Lovett's eyes.

"I suppose," he said grudgingly.

"No…" She laid down her wooden spoon and paced slowly towards him; he backed up. "I mean…" Typically oblivious to Sweeney's disdain for her, she reached out and laid her hand on his cheek. "I mean, I really do care for you, Mr. Todd."

Her palm was cold and callused. He pushed it away. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

She swallowed hard, mustering courage before speaking. "I'm saying that I love you."

That took him a few seconds to absorb, and it made him flinch when he finally absorbed it. He knew she was clingy, but she was saying she _loved _him? And he assumed she wanted him to return those feelings…well, the very idea of treating her the same way he had treated Lucy made his stomach turn. All those years ago, when he was still happily married to Lucy, he had often thought of his beautiful, soft-hearted wife as an angel come to Earth. Mrs. Lovett was just another homely little shrew running a struggling shop in the slums of London. She was ten a penny, she was _nothing_, and she expected him to care about her?

"So you can see why I…"

Sweeney Todd cut his baker off mid-sentence, shoving her against the wall, pinning her arms to her sides. "Are you bloody _mad_?"

"Well, I thought…" Fear flashed across her enormous eyes. "I thought you might care about me, just a little…"

"Well, I suppose you couldn't have been more wrong. Oh, come now, you aren't goin' to _cry_ now, are you? Really, pet, you should have admitted this to me sooner, so I could have revealed me true feelings to you." He almost snickered. Mocking Mrs. Lovett was much more entertaining than his usual unresponsiveness, and hopefully it would dampen her over-exuberant spirits.

She did look like she was about to cry, but she did not. "So that's really why you didn't 'elp me last night? You don't…care?"

"Just trying to get everythin' out in the open. And while we're on the topic, do you have any more revolting little secrets for me, pet?" He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Because if you do, and you elect not to tell me now, I could be so disgusted I might just kill you."

Nellie's heart raced. She was thinking, of course, of Lucy Barker, and how she was not dead, but alive and hopelessly mad, wandering the streets and offering herself to any man who passed. Poor Mr. Todd had been through enough; seeing what his wife had become would crush him. How much could a human heart endure? But if she neglected to tell him the truth, he would not hesitate to kill her if he found out later. Of course, he also might kill her if she told him now, but she could only hope he would have the presence of mind to realize he still needed her to wash his bloody shirts and bake his victims into pies.

"Lucy's alive," she whimpered.

"_What!?_" he growled, shaking her so hard her head snapped as her neck was jolted. "You said she died!"

"No!" she cried in desperation. "I said she took arsenic—I never said she died! But you don't want to know what really 'appened to 'er, Mr. T., it'd break your 'eart!"

"You didn't tell me she was alive. You were jealous, weren't you? Thought you had a chance if I thought Lucy was dead?" He pushed her against the wall again, enjoying the dull, heavy sound her head made when it struck the bricks. She cried out.

"Yes…no! I was thinkin' a bit of meself, but really, love, I did it for you!" Despite her attempts to keep her composure, Sweeney Todd's betrayal last night and fury this morning were too much to handle for a woman so lovelorn, even one as strong as Mrs. Lovett. Pools of tears swelled in her eyes.

Sweeney Todd found that somehow his razor had leapt from its holster into his hand, although he had let go of one of Mrs. Lovett's wrists to catch it. "Jealous," he hissed at her. "Jealous that Lucy had me, that she was ten times the woman you could ever be, that she was twice as beautiful than you could ever dream of bein'!"

"Don't say that! I _love_ you!"

He lashed out at her, razor in hand. Before she could blink, a gash burst open on her sallow face, running from her right temple to her chin, slicing the corner of her mouth. She shrieked, her free hand flying to the cut.

"You wanted to be as beautiful as Lucy? Well, you'll be the ugliest hag in London now!" He gripped her underneath the chin, holding her head still as he went to work with his razor, cutting the left side of her face from cheekbone to jaw, opening two thin, almost-parallel wounds on her forehead, then crossing the first cut to make a narrow X-shape on his latest victim's right cheek. "Now, _where is Lucy?_" he growled as Mrs. Lovett made futile attempts to wipe the dripping blood out of her eyes.

"I…I dunno. Outside, somewhere, likely not too far away. She likes to roam the streets."

"She _what!?_" He threw her to the floor, and she twisted to face him, her fear and anger piercing through her new mask of blood.

"She's nothin' but an insane beggar now, only fit for pickin' old bones from the trash and offerin' 'erself to strangers! I told you when you first got back 'ere, she's gone! She was too weak and stupid to survive what 'appened, and between that and the bloody arsenic, she's round the twist! She's not the same Lucy Barker you once knew—she might not even remember you! You don't want to see 'er!" Mrs. Lovett's salty tears slid into the fresh wounds, making them sting and burn and raising her voice from a wild shout to a scream.

"Mum?" Both Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett looked up, startled, as Toby staggered into the room, still groggy from sleep. The grogginess disappeared, though, when he noticed his guardian's face. "Mum, you're bleedin'!" He glared at Sweeney. "What did you do to 'er!?"

"Toby, love, please stay out of this!" Nellie begged him.

Sweeney stormed out of the pie shop, no doubt to search for his erstwhile wife.

"Mum?"

Mrs. Lovett sat up slowly, raising herself to Toby's eye level, tilting her head downward so her blood drizzled onto the floor instead of her dress.

"Why'd 'e cut you?"

"Toby, get me a clean cloth, that's a good boy."

He did as he was told. "But why'd 'e cut you, Mum?"

Distantly she wondered why he called her that. She didn't know if it was some odd way of saying "Ma'am," the way he called Mr. Todd "Sir," or maybe he truly thought of her as his mother.

"Well…I…I did somethin' bad, love." She took the cloth from Toby and dipped it in the bucket of fresh water she kept by the counter before pressing it to her face. "Or Mr. Todd thinks it's bad, at least."

"What'd you do?"

"Kept a secret from Mr. T." She hesitated before telling him any more, but surely Mr. Todd would be back soon with Lucy on his arm, and Toby would want to know why the insane beggar woman who he had had to throw out of the pie shop was now to be staying in the upper story. "I told somethin' that made 'im think 'is wife was dead, but really she went barkin' mad. I didn't want 'im to know."

"Why would 'e want to know 'is wife was mad?" Mrs. Lovett had stopped wiping the blood from her cuts, so Toby took the cloth from her hand and awkwardly placed it against his guardian's forehead.

She laughed bitterly. "'Cause 'e loves 'er."

"So…so 'e'll be back, then. With 'is wife."

"More than likely." Nellie moved Toby's hand away from her face. "I think the blood's stopped flowin', mostly."

"It's all right, Mum. When Mr. Todd comes back, 'e won't 'urt you again." In an impulsive gesture of kindness, he reached out and squeezed Mrs. Lovett's hand. "Nothin's gonna harm you, not while I'm around."

She squeezed back, hard. "Thanks, love. But that's really not necessary."

Toby was fairly sure that the strength of Mrs. Lovett's grip negated her last statement. "Nothin's gonna 'arm you, no sir, not while I'm around. Demons are prowlin' everywhere nowadays. I'll send 'em howlin', I don't care, I got ways!"

Even though it hurt, she couldn't help but smile. Of course, there was no way Toby could protect her from Mr. Todd, but really, it was a sweet gesture.

She put her arms around the boy she had come to think of as her son. "I'll say the same to you, Toby, me dear."

He hugged her back, and despite the fact that he had just been attempting to comfort her, she could tell it was the embrace of a lonely little boy in need of a family. Poor Toby. God only knew what he had been through, and at such a young age! So she escaped from her waking nightmare of last night's attack and this morning's disaster by pledging to herself that no matter what Mr. Todd did to her, she would protect Toby. Because for her, it was probably already too late.

"You all right, Mum?" Toby queried as she let go of him.

Nellie sighed, both considering and struggling _not_ to consider the still-smarting wounds on her face, the lingering sensations of weakness and shame from the previous night, and the unforgiving anger of the man she loved. "Well, I can 'onestly say these past two days 'ave been the worst of me 'ole life, so, truth be told, dear, I really don't know."

* * *

A/N: I know, I know: I'm so cruel to Mrs. Lovett. She can't seem to get out of my stories without some horrible scars, can she? It seems as though I take my favorite characters, the ones I identify with the most, from certain fandoms and torture them with fics—probably not psychologically healthy, huh? But still, it was fun to write about Mrs. Lovett kicking ass with a rolling pin. Anyway, this will (obviously) be a multi-chapter story, and it will get happier…eventually.


	2. Diagnoses

Blade of Madness

Blade of Madness

Chapter Two: Diagnoses

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed. Not Sweenett…yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna, eventual Sweenett (maybe)

Author's Notes: Don't worry, folks, it's going to get better…slowly. But have faith, and please keep reading, and reviewing if time allows. Oh, by the way, I know Toby got sort of gypped in my last story, but I love that crazy kid, so there'll be a lot more of him and the son/mother relationship he has with Mrs. Lovett in this story.

* * *

Sweeney Todd would have been contemplating various ways to kill Mrs. Lovett had he not been so focused on finding his wife. Supposedly she liked to roam Fleet Street. Could she really be a beggar, one of those hopeless wretches who ate, slept, _lived_ on the street? Why hadn't she gone back to the house? How had she ended up homeless anyway?

London, Fleet Street in particular, was full of half-crazed beggars, most of them old, ugly, and incoherent. He even went so far as to ask some of them if they had seen Lucy; most replied with what didn't even sound like English. The street was also full of alleyways and side avenues that ended in dead ends after four meters of grime, garbage, and mumbling beggars huddled together for warmth. He looked at all of their faces, even if he had to yank their hair or push them to the ground. A few of them lay listlessly on meager straw pallets, moth-eaten blankets, or on the cold hard stones themselves. As Sweeney scanned these unfortunate souls, he saw a glint of yellow hair underneath a tattered kerchief.

Convinced he must be wrong (surely Lucy would not lower herself to this!) and yet desperately hoping he'd found his wife, he stepped over the woman to get a look at her face.

_It was her_.

Oh, heavens, what had happened to her? Lucy's once-lustrous hair was lank and filthy, her face smudged with dirt, her body draped in rags barely recognizable as clothing. She hadn't been sleeping; her eyes were open, but they were vacant and empty, as if pale blue clouds swirled in her irises, driven by aimless winds. And yet they were still so beautiful…

"Lucy," he choked out. "Lucy."

She blinked and sat up. Her eyes went from listless to focused, but they seemed to be staring intently at something behind Sweeney's left ear. "An' 'oo is Lucy? Oh aye, that's me name, innit?"

"Lucy…" He cradled her face in his hands with a tenderness he had not shown to anyone in years. He wouldn't have believed that Sweeney Todd could show such affection, but he was wrong, for Sweeney Todd still loved Lucy just as Benjamin Barker had. "Don't you remember me?"

She blinked again, her eyes refocusing, this time on the sky. "Do I know you, sir? Ah, I know, I saw yer with that young man, gettin' off that boat! Oh, I remember the two of yer!" A lascivious growl escaped her throat, and she licked her lips.

Sweeney drew back with an appalled expression on his face. This was not his Lucy, it couldn't be. Why didn't she recognize him? Was it his changed appearance?

"It's me, love. Benjamin." But the voice was Sweeney Todd's, harsher and lower than Benjamin Barker's, and the name that he spoke tasted strange in his mouth.

Lucy chuckled. It was not the soft, mellifluous laugh of Benjamin Barker's graceful, lovely wife, but the raw, half-hysterical giggle of one of London's mad beggar women. She leered at him. "'Ow would you like a little squiff, dear, a little jig jig?"

"Lucy, it's _me_!" He clutched her wrists and lifted her to her feet. "Your husband!"

She stared at him intently, her eyes actually finding his face this time. She tilted her head to the side, as if she were using all of her addled mental faculties to puzzle out who this man was. "Me 'usband?" she queried distantly.

_She'll remember me in time,_ Sweeney insisted to himself. _She's just convinced herself I would never come back, and can't believe it's me._ He took her under his arm. "Come with me. We'll go back home."

Lucy began to sing, a meandering tune whose notes moved but never seemed to reach a destination. "Go 'ome, go 'ome, no 'ome to go to! 'Cause it's the end of the world! The end, the end, the end of the world! City on fire! City on fire!"

Sweeney had ages-old memories of Lucy singing, softly cooing lullabies to baby Johanna. He had always thought she had a heavenly voice, and there were faint traces of that angel's tone in Lucy's song now. Surely there was a way to make her voice purely angelic again. Surely there was a way.

He brought Lucy up to his tonsorial parlor. He left the small sign in the window turned so the word "closed" was displayed to anyone outside the door. Once Lucy was free to walk about, she paced in circles around the room. At one point, she laid her fingertips delicately on the chest below the window and inexplicably began to wail, scuttling backwards and flailing her arms. Sweeney went to her side and tried to soothe her, insisting that nothing was wrong.

"It's all right now, love. You're home. I brought you home."

* * *

Since the barbershop was closed for the day, Mrs. Lovett did not sell many pies. It was just as well; the day had been slow, so she did not have to deal with many angry customers clamoring when the pies were sold out, and the cuts on her face kept reopening and bleeding and she was constantly attending to them. Through the window, she had seen Mr. Todd with his arm around Lucy, bringing her up to the tonsorial parlor. Nellie had not been upstairs to see exactly what was going on, but she could hear Lucy muttering inanely and occasionally screaming. It didn't sound like she recognized Mr. Todd…or really, Benjamin Barker. But what could Sweeney Todd, a man who slit the throats of his customers out of hatred and rage, do for a delicate, naïve (or stupid, depending on how one looked at it) woman who had loved the kind, harmless Benjamin Barker? Of course, after her husband's death, Nellie herself had fallen for Benjamin Barker, and she most certainly had feelings for Sweeney Todd…

For about the hundred and first time that day, Nellie cursed herself for telling Sweeney that she loved him using profane words she hadn't even known she knew. In her dreams, he would have opened his arms to her, held her, danced with her around the pie shop before pulling her into an embrace and whispering in her ear…

Well, the only things he'd be whispering to her now were threats or insults. His angry words stung, bruises on her heart rather than her flesh, hurting even more than the thin, precise wounds on her face. She had had no inkling of the depth of his disregard for her. Really, it chilled her to think how repulsive he must find her if he wouldn't look twice at her even after being without a woman's touch for fifteen years. He had always treated her with mild indifference; true, he had never actually expressed interest in her, but she had held out hope, and surely it made logical sense that they would end up together. She had developed a fondness for Benjamin Barker—which still very much applied to Sweeney Todd—not long after her late husband's death. She would take care of him, yes she would, if only he would notice her. She wouldn't expect much from him; she just wished he would care about her, that was all. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently, it was. She blinked back tears again, and she felt the slash that began on her left cheekbone crack open slightly. She muttered a curse and stopped scrubbing the bowl she'd been cleaning to press her palm to the cut. She knew she should feel furious and betrayed at Mr. Todd for cutting her; well, bloody hell, she already felt betrayed enough, but she couldn't bring herself to be furious, as many times as she tried to convince herself that Mr. T deserved a few whacks with her rolling pin himself. Truthfully, she was relieved. She had suspected that he would kill her as soon as she told him Lucy's whereabouts, and what were a few cuts compared to death? Yes, they would likely scar, but still…it could have been worse. Much worse.

Frustrated with the bleeding injury, she took her hand away from it and went back to scrubbing the bowl. After she finished, she would have to dry off the silverware that Toby was rinsing now, then today's cleanup would be complete. Normally, after she was done tidying up the pie shop, she would go to the bakehouse to cut up Mr. Todd's unfortunate customers and grind the meat. But obviously that would not be done today.

"Mum?" Toby came into the room. "I'm done dryin' the forks and knives and such."

"Already? My, you're quick. What a good 'elper you are." She smiled at him, but it caused the wounds on her cheeks to start seeping blood again. She swore again, instinctively reaching up to her face. "Don't ever say that word, Toby. Or at least not 'til you're grown."

"It's all right, Mum. I've 'eard it before."

Upstairs, Lucy screamed again.

"Oy, Mum? Is that the woman who I kept 'avin' to throw out o' the shop?"

"Aye. It is." Mrs. Lovett gave the bowl a few final brisk strokes with the cloth.

"_That's _Mr. Todd's wife?"

"Well, I told you she went barkin' mad."

"What 'appened to 'er?"

Nellie sighed as she laid the bowl down on the counter, vacillating between telling Toby the truth and babbling some empty excuse. No doubt he would believe whatever she told him, and he was so young, too young to know…but then, he would find out eventually anyway. And he probably already knew more about the world than a boy of his age should know.

"Well, see, Mr. Todd's name wasn't always Sweeney Todd. There was a time when 'e went by Benjamin Barker, and 'e was married to Lucy Barker. They'd been married about three years when…there was this judge, you see, who…well, 'e wanted Lucy for 'imself, I'll say that. So 'e sent Benjamin Barker off to Australia or some such place for a crime what 'e didn't commit. And then 'e…'e did somethin' right awful to Lucy. It drove 'er mad, it did." She left out fact that Lucy had attempted suicide. She didn't want Toby to know that the world was so horrible people took their own lives in order to escape it.

"Somefin' right awful?" Toby repeated. He looked down his feet, and when he spoke, Mrs. Lovett barely heard the muttered words: "Men ain't like women. They ain't what you can trust."

"Oh, not all men, love," she insisted. "Just some."

"Well, all of 'em that I've met!" Toby protested. "The masters at the workhouse was cruel, all of 'em, and Signor Pirelli, 'e was fond of the beatin's. And Mr. Todd cut yer face!"

"Toby…" She knelt so she could look him in the eyes. "I'm not sayin' I should forgive Mr. T. for what 'e did to me face. But 'e's been through some right terrible things, suffered more than any man should, and it makes 'im angry. I'll lay odds 'e needs me more than ever now; I think 'e needs somebody to take care of 'im, then maybe…"

"But _you _take care of 'im, Mum."

"I do." She smiled bitterly, and a droplet of blood swelled at the tail end of the cut that crossed her mouth. "But 'e doesn't see it. 'e's gotta see it."

"So 'e cut yer face 'cause 'e was angry? Angrier than most folks, like?"

"You might say that." Nellie stood up. "Now bring me the silverware what you finished dryin,' would you, love?"

"All right, Mum." Toby hesitated slightly before walking off. "Mum?"

"Yes, m'dear?"

"D'you think Mr. Todd's wife will ever…get better?"

She shook her head no; the cuts were paining her and she did not want to speak again. Toby left, looking solemn.

Another scream floated down the stairs.

* * *

The following morning, Mr. Todd had a request for Mrs. Lovett when she brought breakfast upstairs for him and Lucy.

It rather startled her that he was already speaking to her; when she had brought him supper the night before, he had glared at her once and otherwise ignored her existence. She actually jumped slightly when she heard Mr. Todd say to her: "Lucy's ill."

"Aye, I know that," she replied, unable to keep the irritation from her voice.

"She's coughin' fit to kill. Is there a doctor who makes house calls near here?"

"There's Dr. Murrin, over on Cloverdale Street. Sometimes 'e sees patients at 'is own 'ouse."

"I want you to bring him here. Get him to see Lucy."

"All right." She paused in the doorway as she left. "You know, Mr. T., I'd imagine it won't be 'ard to cure Lucy's cough, but I think that's all can be cured, if you get me drift."

"I'm afraid I don't," he replied coolly.

"Mr. Todd, she's gone. Whatever mind's in that beggar's body, it's not Lucy Barker's."

"You'll hold your tongue!"

"I'm only tellin' you it's useless. Why do you think I didn't tell you about 'er?"

"Because you're a selfish little slag." He snapped. "Now go fetch the doctor!"

"Don't call me that."

He had been studying a piece of toast as if it were a dead rat he was holding by the tail, and he looked at her as if that were the last thing he expected out of her mouth. "What?"

"I said, don't _call _me that! I'm not a slag, and maybe I'm a bit selfish, but who isn't? I care about you, God knows why."

He regarded her steadily for a moment, then said: "Right. Now leave me."

She left. She went downstairs to put on her coat and gloves and change into her boots that were best for walking. "Toby, I'm goin' out for a bit. If anyone comes to the shop, make sure to tell 'em we'll be open tomorrow, and put in an especially good word about me pies, will you?"

"All right, Mum."

It was not a long walk to Cloverdale Street. Nellie rapped on the door, and a scrawny, spectacled young man who she assumed to be an apprentice opened it.

"Is Dr. Murrin in?"

"Just a moment, Ma'am." The young man's eyes lingered uneasily on Nellie's damaged face before he turned away. "Step inside, if you will."

"Thank you." She walked into the surprisingly small, sparsely furnished foyer and waited by the door, not even bothering to remove her gloves.

Dr. Murrin came into the room. He was an older man with a tall, perhaps commanding presence, whose graying head nearly brushed the ceiling. Like his assistant, he wore eyeglasses, and their style tacitly spoke the words _I know more than you do_, but the calm green-blue eyes behind the glasses contradicted that message. Like his assistant, he immediately noticed the wounds on Mrs. Lovett's face. "Good afternoon. Would you like my associate to take your coat, Mrs…?"

"Lovett. Nellie Lovett. That won't be necessary, thanks."

"Mrs. Lovett." He took off his spectacles and polished them on his lapel. "Tell me, how did you cut your face?"

"Oh…I'm not 'ere for meself, sir. I'm 'ere for me neighbor. 'is wife is sick, coughin' somethin' awful, and 'e's quite worried about 'er."

"I see. And where does your neighbor reside?"

"'e runs the tonsorial parlor above me pie shop on Fleet Street."

"Ah. So you're Mrs. Lovett of Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium?"

"That's me." She smiled, forgetting for a moment how much that hurt.

"I haven't had a chance to visit your shop myself, I'm afraid, but a few of my patients have mentioned it. They recommended it highly," the doctor remarked as he retrieved his heavy coat from a peg by the door and picked up his medical kit.

"Thank you, Doctor."

Mrs. Lovett showed Dr. Murrin the way to Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor. "I'm pretty sure both 'im and 'is wife are up there." She jerked her thumb toward the upper story, rather hoping that Sweeney would not kill the doctor after he had diagnosed Lucy.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lovett."

As Dr. Murrin climbed the stairs, Mrs. Lovett went back into the pie shop. Toby was sitting at the table, absentmindedly spinning a toy top that Mrs. Lovett had bought him.

"Where'd you go, Mum?"

"I went to fetch a doctor. Apparently Mr. Todd's wife is ill." Mrs. Lovett pulled off her gloves and jacket.

"You mean…mad, like?" Toby stopped the top's spin with his finger.

"She's coughin.' I'd lay odds 'e's worried she 'as the consumption."

"In the workhouse, some of the other boys coughed 'cause there was too much soot. It was awful dirty in there." Toby wound the string around the top.

"You know, Toby, I don't think you've ever told me 'ow you got out of the workhouse, or 'ow you came to work for Pirelli." Mrs. Lovett sat down across from her adopted son.

Toby pulled the string, sending the top skittering across the table before it stabilized and rotated in place. "We was workin' outside one day, breakin' up stones, I think. Signor Pirelli came by in a carriage, and called to us that 'e 'ad gold coins for us. 'e made us look up, 'e did; nobody ever came to the workhouse, and most of us 'ad never seen clothes as fine as 'is, and none of us 'ad ever seen gold coins. The master was right angry, but Signor said somefin' to 'im, I don't know what. Then Signor started askin' us to sing for 'im. 'e thought I was the best, so 'e gave some money to the master and took me away in 'is carriage." The top, which had begun to spin awkwardly, toppled over. Mrs. Lovett caught it before it rolled off the table and handed it back to Toby.

"Thanks, Mum." He paused. "I think the Lord 'isself sent you to take me away from Signor Pirelli. 'e wasn't much better than the workhouse master."

Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but be touched by that comment. "You're a sweet boy, Toby."

* * *

Lucy was frightened of Dr. Murrin. Luckily, she was in one of her moods during which she seemed to recognize Sweeney as her husband (except she was calling him "Benny," and she had always called him "Benjamin" before he was arrested), so she sat still when he told her to do so.

When Dr. Murrin was finished assessing Lucy's illness, he informed Sweeney that Lucy wasn't badly ill. "It's nothing serious. Her lungs are clear. She's likely just had too much exposure to cold air. Make sure she gets plenty of rest."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Sweeney, with finality. He hadn't liked the way the doctor looked suspiciously at Lucy when she started squirming or saying things that made little sense, as if she were a patient in Fogg's Asylum. She didn't even look like a beggar anymore; Sweeney had washed her hair and filched Mrs. Lovett's best dress from her wardrobe for Lucy to wear.

"Tell me, Mr. Todd, has your wife recently suffered a blow to the head?"

"No," the barber replied, almost snarling.

"Is her behavior normally this…erratic?" The doctor turned his head toward Lucy, who was pacing around the room with tiny steps, muttering and clawing at her own hands.

"My wife has seen some difficult times. She is very delicate. Now if you would leave us…"

"Mr. Todd, I have seen many cases like hers. My patients' relatives see behavior like hers and hope there is some organic cause. Some of my colleagues would say the cause is hysteria…"

"You think she is _hysterical_?" Sweeney felt anger roiling in the pit of his stomach. He had never been able to make sense of the idea that cutting out a woman's gender-specific organs could cure her madness. And Lucy was not mad, she was just…

"Through my experience, I have come to believe that a hysterectomy has little effect on supposed 'hysteria,' so, no. I believe the disease is in her mind."

"My wife is _not_ sick in the head!" Sweeney reached for his razor.

Dr. Murrin held up his hands in a disarming gesture, intended to placate the irate barber. "I understand that this might be difficult for you to accept, Mr. Todd. But it is my professional opinion that your wife would be better-off than she is now if she were to be admitted to Mr. Fogg's establishment."

Sweeney forced a smile onto his face. "Thank you for your help, Doctor. How about a shave, on the house, to thank you for your help?"

"No thank you, Mr. Todd. You have already paid, and I have things I must attend to. Good day, and I wish you luck with your wife's health."

He took his medical kit and left.

* * *

Nellie was watching Toby spin his top (and occasionally giving it a whirl herself—well, it was fun, and Toby certainly wasn't going to tell her she was too old to try it) when Dr. Murrin walked into the pie shop. Nellie found herself slightly relieved that he was alive; somehow, the idea of Mr. Todd killing a doctor didn't much appeal to her.

"Everythin' all right, Doctor?" she queried.

"Yes…I wondered if you wanted me to take a look at your face."

"I can't pay," Nellie cautioned him. True, she and Mr. Todd had been increasingly affluent lately, but with another mouth to feed and Toby constantly needing new clothes because he was growing like a weed… "Maybe I could give you a pie."

"That won't be necessary."

"Come now, I know that one thing doctors never do is 'elp people for free."

He ignored that comment but for a polite laugh. "How did you get those cuts, may I ask?"

Nellie paused for a moment before answering. "Me shop was broken into two nights ago. A few thugs attacked me." It wasn't exactly easy to get the last sentence out. What she said was true, it just wasn't the correct answer to the question.

"Oh, my." The doctor's eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"What?" Toby startled and his top went skittering haphazardly across the table. "Why didn't you wake me up, Mum?"

"You was fast asleep, love, and you couldn't 'ave done anythin'." Mrs. Lovett was fairly certain that Toby's gin-induced slumber had prevented him from waking up to the noise. But she was glad he hadn't seen what happened to her.

Dr. Murrin cut in. "As far as you know, was what they cut you with…clean?"

"Well…they, um…they used one of me knives, and I'd just finished cleanin' 'em, so…yes." The lies stumbled off of her tongue. But her response had the same point as the truth; Sweeney Todd's razor had probably been clean when he cut her, since he was forever polishing and cleaning those damn things, and always with such care…five times more care than he ever showed any human being… "I washed the cuts."

Dr. Murrin walked to the table to get a slightly closer look at the wounds on Mrs. Lovett's face. "None of them need stitches. But I'm sorry to say they look like they will scar. The cuts aren't deep, so the scars may fade with time, but…"

"It's all right, Mum, you'll still be beau'iful," said Toby loyally. She reached over and ruffled his hair.

"Obviously, the cuts can't be covered, but try to keep them clean. Wash them often, or they will fester."

She nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

Dr. Murrin left, pausing only to say almost jokingly, "And when I return to your establishment, Mrs. Lovett, I expect to receive at least one pie on the house."

Mrs. Lovett would have grinned if it weren't so painful; she was starting to remember to move her face as little as possible. "Absolutely."

"Mum, why didn't you tell 'im Mr. Todd cut yer face?" Toby queried as the door swung shut.

"I was tryin' to protect 'im, I suppose," she replied, hoping she sounded dismissive.

"Why? 'e's cruel to you."

"Not always, just when I keep secrets from 'im. And 'e just found out 'is wife is mad; I'm sure that's troublin' 'im quite a lot, and 'e doesn't need anyone goin' after 'im for cuttin' me."

"You like Mr. Todd, don't you, Mum?"

Since she had just decided she to reply to yes or no questions with a gesture until her face had healed, so she simply nodded.

"Why?"

She raised and lowered her shoulders, not replying verbally, but not only because it hurt to move her lips. Explaining her feelings for Mr. Todd to Toby would be difficult…for heaven's sake, she had trouble explaining those feelings to herself. And Nellie Lovett rarely remained silent when offered the opportunity to speak.

"If 'e ever 'urts you again…" Toby's voice trailed off as he slowly wound the string around the top once more. Mrs. Lovett didn't miss the latent threat in the boy's voice.

"What was that, love?"

"If Mr. Todd ever 'urts you again, I'll kill 'im."

"Toby!"

"I mean it! I can't stand 'im for cuttin' you, Mum. When I saw yer face bleedin', I thought I was 'avin' a nightmare, I did."

"Oh…" She got up and went to Toby's side of the table, where she wrapped an arm around him and laid his head on her shoulder. He instantly put his top down and snuggled closer to her. She couldn't help but smile; most boys Toby's age were already in the midst of that phase in which they were embarrassed to hug their mothers. "I'm lucky to 'ave a son like you. And don't you worry. I'm the one what should be protectin' you."

He completely ignored her last two sentences. "Mr. Todd won't 'urt you again, Mum, I swear. And not nobody else, either, not while I'm around."

"Hush, love. There's no need for this." She planted a distinctly maternal kiss on the top of his head. It suddenly struck her that it was strange how quickly she had…well, adopted Toby. On the other hand, she had always considered herself rather unconventional. (It wasn't exactly normal to cut up a murderous barber's victims for pie filling, after all.) "You're too young to be worryin' about such things. What kind of mum would I be if I 'ad you concerned about me all the time, hmm?"

"I don't mind."

Toby's stomach growled.

"Well, Toby, I think your belly would rather you think about dinner than all this worry."

"Can I 'ave a pie, Mum?" He sat up and looked at her hopefully.

"Don't you ever get sick of me pies, love? You eat 'em just about every day." In truth, Nellie always tried to give Toby pies with meat she'd bought at the market, but the growing boy had an enormous appetite and sometimes she was forced to let him eat the pies with…the pies she sold to her customers. And right now, the pies of the latter type were all she had, saved up for tomorrow when hopefully she could reopen her shop. (She had closed for the day, due to both her dwindling meat supplies and her not-quite-healthy mental state.)

"'Course not, Mum, yer pies are the best in London!"

She laughed, thinking how horrified her customers would be if they knew that they preferred human meat over cow. Oddly enough, that thought contributed to her laughter. "All right, love, you can have a pie." She couldn't shake the niggling sensation that Toby shouldn't be eating human meat, but what was she supposed to do, tell him that she didn't want him to have a pie because it was filled with roasted human flesh?

So she gave Toby a pie and prepared a cannibalism-free dinner for Sweeney and the beggar (Nellie had stopped thinking of that woman as Lucy long ago), promising Toby that she would come back and sit with him after she had brought Mr. Todd his food.

She was in for an unpleasant surprise when she visited the upper story.

"Mr. Todd, is she wearin' me dress? That _looks _an awful lot like mine!"

Lucy was sitting by the wall, singing quietly to herself. She was all huddled up, her knees pulled to her chest, so Nellie could see little of the dress Lucy wore. Despite this, Nellie recognized the deep blue-violet brocade of a gown she'd bought not a few days before. She had been shopping with Toby (his trousers were all several centimeters too short, thanks to his recent growth spurt) when the dress had caught her eye. It was the strange, striking vibrancy of the dark purple that she liked; it wasn't a color that was in fashion, which may have been why it drew her attention. What irked her, though, was that Benjamin Barker had always made sure his wife wore the fashionable dresses that she loved. Nellie had plenty of dresses that a sane Lucy would have wanted much more than the one that Sweeney had chosen, so it was apparent that he had chosen it just to anger Nellie.

"It looks prettier on her."

"She's taller than me." Mrs. Lovett shot back, instinctively licking away the blood that oozed from the corner of her mouth after the emphatic remark. "It's too short. She'd never let 'er ankles show. Or at least, she _used_ to not let her ankles show; now she'll show any part of 'erself to anyone." That remark earned her a look that was poisonous enough to kill all the rats in an abandoned warehouse.

"Would you have her wearin' the rags she had on earlier? You know, she tells me you have no pity."

"She can wear somethin' else of mine. But I 'aven't even gotten a chance to wear that dress yet. And I 'ave a few things what are a bit too long on me; they'd fit 'er better. And you might've asked before goin' through me closet."

"I still think it looks prettier on her. Of course, she's prettier than you even in her rags…"

"Now you're just bein' difficult," Nellie snapped. "You just want 'er wearin' that dress 'cause you know how much I like it."

"And if I were, what could you do about it?"

Nellie ground her teeth. Even before he had let her know just how little he cared about her, he would do this sometimes; he would be stubborn about insignificant things because he knew it grated on her practical nature. For the most part, the only times she saw him laugh were when he made her lose her temper.

"I could come at you with me rollin' pin. I'd lay odds I 'ave a better reach with it than you do with your razor."

His only reply was a snicker.

Well, she would just have to show him that she was right, wouldn't she?

Mrs. Lovett went downstairs, heading straight for her closet. She picked out the dresses that were slightly long on her, ending up with four of them. Then she retrieved her rolling pin from its place in the pie shop's kitchen and climbed the stairs to Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor once more.

Sweeney gave her an irritated glance when she stormed into the barbershop. Before she lost his attention, she spoke. "I'm tellin' you again. I want me dress back. Lucy can 'ave these; they'd fit 'er better." She tossed the gowns she carried onto the floor and lifted her rolling pin to rest it on her shoulder, a quiet threat.

"And I'm tellin' you again, no."

"Don't make me smack you, Mr. T. I probably should smack you anyway, what with what you did to me yesterday."

He turned away from her, bored with her anger. That was a mistake. She took a few quick steps forward and swung her weapon, which struck the demon barber of Fleet Street smartly across the backside.

He jumped and gave a startled yelp, then whirled on her, attempting to turn the yelp into a shout of rage. "Why, you little…" He whipped his razor from its holster, only to find Mrs. Lovett's rolling pin slamming into his wrist. The razor skittered across the floor, a surprised metallic sound.

"Told you I 'ave a better reach. Now ask your crazy wife to change into one of the dresses I brought 'er and give me the new one back."

He gaped at her, half dumbfounded, half angry. Perhaps he was remembering what she had done to her attackers with the rolling pin as he brought Lucy the dresses that had been too long on Mrs. Lovett. Lucy was fascinated with the new clothing, fingering hungrily through the four dresses and holding up her favorite. Coincidentally, she had chosen a slightly faded gown that had once been bright yellow and sported many ruffles; far too ostentatious for the old Lucy Barker.

Nellie waited with her rolling pin still at the ready as Sweeney took Lucy into another room to change. He brought her the blue-violet dress and tossed it to her sullenly. She caught it with her free hand, still not willing to drop her guard.

"I still say that dress looks better on Lucy."

"Thank you, Mr. T." said Nellie in a mockery of her usual cheery voice.

As she turned to leave, he had one last barb for her. "So, do you normally strike men you claim to love with your rollin' pin?"

She would have glared at him over her shoulder, but glaring was not one of her strengths. So instead, she looked him straight in the eye as if she were seeing right through his silver-cold front to his troubled mind and soul. He had just _had _to go for her weak spot, hadn't he? Yes, oddly enough, she still loved him. But she loved the man she thought…no, _knew_…he could be, not the man he was now. Only if he would open up to her…well, this was not the time to think about that. "When they let me get attacked and then cut me face up, yes, I do."

With that uncharacteristically bitter parting shot, Mrs. Lovett strode downstairs. She was not accustomed to the confused feelings of anger and sorrow that roiled in the pit of her stomach. Even when she had been lonely and nearly bankrupt in the midst of an economic downturn, she had gone to work in her empty shop in morning with a song in her throat and a smile on her lips. She held the brocade dress tightly to her side as she walked, her usual smile returning slightly (but damn! Her face started bleeding again) at the thought of Sweeney's shocked look when she had whacked him in the arse with a rolling pin. She would feel like singing again soon, she told herself. Maybe when Sweeney finally learned to accept Dr. Murrin's diagnosis that Lucy was mad (for surely the doctor had noticed that). But for now, Mrs. Lovett would diagnose her current situation as being at rock bottom. But on the bright side, the only place she had left to go was up. Now she just needed a ladder.

She replaced the indigo dress in her closet with plans to wear it the next day, then went to finish eating dinner with her son.

* * *

A/N: So, even though Mrs. Lovett is still in love, she's not taking any crap. She'll be okay, everyone, I promise. And Sweeney will start learning that he's going to get spanked with a rolling pin more often if he doesn't shape up!


	3. Conflicts

Blade of Madness

Chapter Three: Conflicts

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed. Not Sweenett…yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna, eventual Sweenett (maybe)

Author's Notes: I apologize for how long it took me to post this, despite the fact that it's summer. The muses that were poking me incessantly during the school year decided to abandon me after my graduation.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett wore the blue-violet dress the following day. Despite the remarks Sweeney Todd had made about it, she thought the gown suited her perhaps better than her usual blacks, reds and grays. The indigo skirt was lavishly embroidered in violet thread with abstract patterns, and a silky purple ruffle stitched with blue-violet thread hung below the swooping neckline. And on the more practical side of things, the sleeves were fashioned to cling to her arms and not get in her way, but they were easy to push up past the elbows so as not to get covered in flour when she was baking. She twirled before the mirror, enjoying the swishing sound the skirt made and feeling almost pleased with her reflection. Her hair was incorrigible as always, but she'd come to like her trademark shock of reddish curls. If only her face were unmarred…

Mr. Todd, having found that seeing his wife's damaged state fueled his anger against humankind, had opened his tonsorial parlor once more, deciding to keep Lucy in the upper story's small back room so she wouldn't be exposed to his violent crimes. And as a result, Mrs. Lovett's pie shop had an abundant supply of meat and was overflowing with customers again. Nellie was a perfect (if injured) copy of herself as far as any of those customers could tell, bustling among the tables, making idle conversation, juggling six or seven various tasks at once. Running a busy pie shop was both difficult and exhausting, but she loved it. She relished watching the people seated at the tables ravenously devouring her pies, listening to them clamor, firing off a few sentences of vacuous chatter to a few individuals…and knowing that she was responsible for all of this, that she was the center of attention. It made her feel…accomplished, even special.

But the work was harder than usual today. Due to her recent attempts to speak as little as possible (something that was not effortless for her, needless to say), her cuts had begun to heal. But unfortunately for her, the deepest wound was the first one Sweeney had given her: the one that crossed her lips and twinged the most when she spoke. Since she had to make conversation with the customers—they were more likely to return to the pie shop if they felt welcome—she talked freely, pretending her cuts were not there. She even carried a special towel with her to wipe away the blood that intermittently oozed from the corner of her mouth. But it grew more and more difficult to keep smiling as she felt the customers' eyes tracing her cuts instead of paying attention to her words. By the end of the day, she was asking Toby to handle most of the social niceties while she took over more of his duties, such as pouring ale and chasing after would-be freeloaders. Toby, bless his heart, charmed the crowd easily and never argued with Mrs. Lovett when she asked something of him. After she closed the pie shop for the night, she hugged Toby tightly and gave him a penny to buy himself some toffees.

While Toby was gone, Nellie whipped up supper for him, as well as Mr. Todd and Lucy. She ignored her own growling stomach, knowing that from then on she would have to carefully ration everyone's meals. Toby, who had never had a small appetite, was eating twice as much as he used to in order to fuel his recent growth spurt, which had been fine when they only had three mouths to feed, but…

Nellie plucked a crescent roll from Lucy's plate and took a small bite from it. Lucy wouldn't begrudge it; she wouldn't even notice that Sweeney had a roll and she didn't. Besides, Nellie needed to eat something, didn't she?

Mrs. Lovett strode up the stairs with the two plates. Sweeney was, predictably, seated in the barber chair and admiring one of his razors. He didn't even glance up when his plate was carefully placed on his lap. "All right, Mr. T., 'ere's your supper, and 'ere's Lucy's. You need anythin' else, you call me."

"Mrs. Lovett."

She did not like the tone of voice Mr. Todd was using, and found herself wishing that she had her rolling pin with her.

"Hmm?"

"Why is it that I have a crescent roll and Lucy has none?"

Mrs. Lovett faced him, hands on hips, all business. She tried to ignore the fact that she was becoming increasingly aware of her heartbeat. "Come now, Mr. T., I've known few women to eat as much as your everyday man. Why's it matter you've got a bit more food than Lucy?"

"Are you _tryin'_ to feed her less than me?"

"No, just didn't think she'd care if..."

"What? You didn't feed her?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're just lookin' for a reason to get angry with me. I'm feedin' 'er, she just doesn't 'ave a crescent roll. You're always snarlin' at me that you're not 'ungry, so why don't you just give 'er your roll?"

"Why don't you just give Lucy a roll?" Apparently, he wasn't done snarling.

"All right." Nellie raised her hands disarmingly. "From now on, she gets as much food as you." She nearly added "And I'll stop pesterin' you to eat all the food on your plate, so maybe I can 'ave some," under her breath, but decided not to at the last second.

"She had better," Sweeney growled at her, shooting her a threatening glare.

Lucy came tottering in. Nellie found herself wondering, not for the first time, if Lucy had forgotten how to stand up straight. Sweeney set the plates down on the floor and went to her side, softly brushing her lank hair behind her ears. She poked him in the chest and babbled, "Oy, do I know you, Mister?"

Nellie didn't want to see any more. "Mr. Todd, when you two are done eatin', try and remember to bring the plates downstairs. And for cryin' out loud, don't just take two bites and say you ate." She went out.

* * *

Mr. Todd forgot to bring the plates from supper downstairs, so Mrs. Lovett had to retrieve them herself. He was still in the barber chair, but he was looking at the photograph of Lucy and Johanna instead of his razor. Lucy was in the other room, singing to herself.

"You forgot the plates," Nellie chided as she picked them up herself. The only response Mr. Todd gave was a noncommittal sound. "Mr. T.? Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Is Benjamin Barker alive?"

He turned to her with a piercing stare. "What sort of foolish question is that?"

"Just answer it. Yes or no."

Sweeney returned his gaze to the framed picture. "No."

"And why do you suppose that is?"

He did not look at her, but she saw his lip curl in irritation, or maybe disgust. "Why do you think, Mrs. Lovett?"

"You're the one who killed 'im. You tell me."

"Benjamin Barker," he hissed, snapping the two halves of the picture frame together so the photographs were hidden, "tragically began to die on his first day on the prison ship bound for Botany Bay. He was dead within a few months."

Mrs. Lovett tilted her head to one side, resting her chin on the heel of her palm. "So, 'e died 'cause of all the terrible things what 'appened to 'im."

"I suppose. Now you have your answer. Get out."

"What you're tellin' me is you think people will die if they suffer enough, even if their 'earts is still beatin'."

"Yes, now get out!" He stood and reached for his razor, momentarily forgetting he still held the picture frame in his dominant hand, and for a few seconds he appeared awkward and lost, debating whether or not to drop one of his most treasured belongings to reach another. He slapped the photograph down on the barber's chair, his eyes flashing.

"You know, Mr. T., your Lucy suffered. Do you think Lucy Barker's alive?"

"Of course she's alive! I can hear her in there, singin'!" Sweeney pointed in the direction from which Lucy's weak, tremulous voice came.

"I've 'eard Sweeney Todd sing lately," Nellie replied coolly. "But I can't say I've 'eard Benjamin Barker sing in fifteen years."

"You have the most bloody convoluted way of speakin' I've ever heard. What are you tryin' to say? You so afraid I'll kill you for sayin' it?"

_Just a bit, love. _"I'm sayin' Lucy Barker is dead the same way Benjamin Barker is. And I don't think either of them is comin' back to life any time soon."

"Now, you listen." He crossed the room and grabbed her by the shoulder, forcing her back against the wall. The plates in her hand clinked together harshly and she had to grip them hard in order to not drop them. "Lucy isn't well now, but I _will _bring her back."

"How?" Nellie demanded. "Just by lovin' 'er? Lovin' someone don't do a damn thing unless they love you back, and she barely remembers you! She likes to say 'Don't I know you' to strangers, by the way."

He released her shoulder and smirked at her. "I had you pegged for someone who believes love conquers all."

_Trust me, Mr. T., you've done a fine job convincin' me otherwise. _"You'd've been right about that at one point, but, unlike you, I can admit I'm wrong," she snapped.

"Oh, can you?" He raised his eyebrows, mocking her. She bristled.

"I just did, didn't I? Mr. Todd, you can't bring Lucy back! It won't 'appen!"

"You're jealous!" He pinned her against the wall again.

"Are you tryin' to make me break these plates?" She fired off in reply, knowing that he wanted a frightened reaction. He had come close to getting one, but she wasn't about to let him know that.

"You're jealous she's got me."

"Maybe I am, but that don't make me wrong." She squirmed, trying to free herself from the vice-like grip on her shoulder. "You were yellin' at me to get out a few moments ago. Now are you gon'na let me?"

He let go of her, pulling his hand away sharply as if he had been dragging his fingers through sewage. "Watch your mouth from now on. Unless you want a few more scars on that unlovely little face of yours."

Mrs. Lovett blinked, the backs of her eyes starting to burn. Back when Mr. Todd used to simply ignore everything she said (had that only been a few days ago? Lord! It felt like months), she had often thought that any response from him would be better than no response at all. But now that his replies were cruel and angry, she found herself longing for his stony silence, because the silence hadn't offered proof of his distaste for her and she had still been able to believe, to hope, to dream… "In that case, I'll just carry me rollin' pin with me when I want to give you a warnin.' And you're a fine one to be insultin' me looks, considerin' you're the reason I look like I lost a scuffle with an angry pussycat!"

"You deserved those cuts. It's not as if you were ever pretty, though…"

She came within a centimeter of screaming at him that she hadn't deserved the cuts and that she had only (all right, not _only_, but _mostly_) been thinking of him when she implied that Lucy was dead, but now was not the time for that. He was ostensibly not planning on killing her in the immediate future, so she didn't have to defend herself in order to save her life, and he was being so unreasonable that arguing would do no good. But he wasn't getting away with insulting her. "I think I was pretty, and that's all should matter."

He snickered. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my dear."

"What if the be'older owns a mirror?"

Sweeney gave her a vicious look, which both frightened her and let her know that she'd won; he couldn't think of a witty riposte. "Get out."

Deciding to quit while she was ahead, Nellie did, clenching her jaw as she walked. She found herself wondering if she should have waited for more time to pass before trying to convince Mr. Todd that his wife's case was hopeless. If she had waited longer, waited for him to see that Lucy could not improve and develop his own doubts, he might have listened to her (whether or not he admitted she was right). Now he might continue denying the futility of taking in Lucy just for the sake of disagreeing with her, or trying to prove her wrong. Then again, maybe in time, he would see no improvement and remember her admonition…

She shook her head, as if to clear the troubling thoughts away like clinging cobwebs. She walked downstairs and washed the plates (Sweeney had actually cleaned his plate for once, damn him, as if he knew she had been hoping for a few leftovers), made sure Toby didn't eat all of the toffees, and gave him a half-full tumbler of gin (something else she'd have to ration now) to help him get to sleep. Then she trooped down to the bakehouse to chop up the bodies Sweeney Todd had left for her.

* * *

Despite his rather violent denial of Mrs. Lovett's remarks about Lucy, Sweeney Todd couldn't help but feel uneasy.

The beggar woman he had brought to his tonsorial parlor was so, so unlike the delicate, virtuous Lucy of fifteen years past. The memories he had of her were faded, like a photograph that had been left in the sun and gone pale and colorless. But all of those memories involved smiles or laughter, or both; Benjamin's and Lucy's wedding day, Lucy cradling a newborn Johanna, Lucy singing softly to herself as she worked on a needlepoint…perhaps his mind had filtered out all the unpleasant memories, but he would stake his life on the fact that there never had been any. Benjamin and Lucy had never quarreled, both of them being gentle-hearted and agreeable, and Benjamin had never stopped marveling at how his beloved seemed to be flawless. It was almost incredible how like a faultless storybook character she was; true, she was sensitive, perhaps fragile, but that only made Benjamin love her more. He saw that as an endearing trait, not a flaw.

Not only did Lucy not seem to recognize him as her husband, but little she said or did made any sense. The shy, sweet smile of old was supplanted by a mindless grin that occasionally turned lascivious. Even though she'd bathed, her once-soft hands were still rough, with years of filth crusted under the fingernails. But her eyes…oh, God, the eyes were the worst. He could barely remember how her eyes had once danced with warm, knowing light, but those dim recollections were enough to torment him with the fact that the light in Lucy's eyes now was like a lantern aimed by a lost wanderer. It was as if there were no thought or emotion behind the eyes, only scattered, gibbering shreds of what had once been a soul. When Sweeney stared into those eyes, he did not see his Lucy, but a grotesque parody of sapience inside the shell of a woman's body.

And yet he could see his wife if he looked hard enough. After a few moments of panic that Lucy was gone forever, his own troubled mind would reassure him. It would dip into Sweeney's faint, beautiful memories and lay Lucy's face over that of a beggar woman, convincing him that Lucy Barker was still alive somewhere inside the damaged mind and desecrated body.

That doctor…he must have been wrong. He knew no doctors who exclusively serviced those who were supposedly troubled in the head, but he wanted a second opinion. The only problem was that doctors were expensive, and he never bothered to charge the customers he killed. He had a few pounds, but the little money he gathered was mostly spent on tonsorial supplies like lather and polish for his razors. Of course, he never went to the market himself; too many people. He had the baker do his shopping for him.

Speaking of which…

He knew she stockpiled her money somewhere it would be difficult to find in the event of a robbery. She had been prattling about that one day, no doubt proud of her cleverness. But of course, he had not been paying attention, so he did not know where Mrs. Lovett's money was hidden, but he could likely find it.

Sweeney made his way downstairs. He searched the places in Lovett's room that made the most sense, such as underneath the mattress. But apparently she had been more creative with her concealment of her money than he had expected…

"Mr. Todd, what're you doin'?"

He startled, and hated himself for it. Mrs. Lovett was standing in the doorway, one fist planted on her hip and a bloody meat cleaver in the other hand.

"What does it matter?"

"I'd like to know why you're snoopin' around in me bedroom!"

"I'm lookin' for somethin'."

"What? Money to pay another doctor to tell you Lucy's past 'ope?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "How did you know?"

She shrugged. "What else is in me room that's of interest to you?"

"Good point." He turned away from her. "What are you doing up here? You're supposed to be in the bakehouse."

"Aye, dicin' up bodies for you, like always. I noticed me cleaver was gettin' dull, so I came up 'ere to sharpen it. And I found you snoopin' around." Mrs. Lovett concealed a wince as the cut that crossed her lips twinged.

"Where do you keep your money, anyway?"

"I told you once," she replied in a dismissive tone that was downright maddening.

"Yes, I _know_, but I…"

"Wasn't listenin' to me." Nellie knew she would be significantly richer if she had fifty pence for every time she had needed to ask Sweeney if he were listening to her. She'd be even richer than that if she had fifty additional pence for every time he lied, telling her he was listening. Of course, if she had been fined for believing every lie he'd spun to placate or reassure her, she would be impoverished now. "Not so glad you always ignore me now, are you?"

"Don't toy with me, Mrs. Lovett."

She shouted at him even as he glowered at her. "You think I'll just let you waltz in 'ere and take me money for a lost cause?"

"Does it matter whether or not you would let me?"

Mrs. Lovett walked out, and Sweeney thought he had won until she returned with her rolling pin, striking it rhythmically against one leg. It shouldn't have unsettled him. "It matters."

_Damn_.

"We can't afford another doctor," she continued. "The pie shop may be bringin' in plenty, but we've another mouth to feed and Toby's growin' like a weed. So if you're plannin' on not bein' on the verge of starvation when you finally get to the judge, you'll let me spend money on food instead of a second opinion what will be the same as the first."

Sweeney flicked open his razor, pointing it at her. "One day I'll kill you."

She swung the rolling pin. Mr. Todd jerked his arm back, but Mrs. Lovett's weapon still clipped the back of his hand, causing his fingers to open and his precious razor to clatter to the floor. "Not if I break your wrists first!"

The barber picked up his silvery friend and carefully examined it for damage. A tiny smile that reminded Mrs. Lovett of a serpent's predatory grin crept over his face. "Now, pet, could you really break the wrists of the man you care for so much?"

Her wounds sent little twitches of pain skittering across the delicate muscles of her face, warning her that he was perfectly capable of harming her and she should be just as capable of doing the same. "If you were tryin' to kill me, of course I could!"

But somewhere deep down, she feared he was right.

* * *

Sweeney Todd went back upstairs, no richer and a bit angrier.

He spotted Lucy, hunched over just outside the barbershop door, carefully closing it as if she were sneaking out. "Lucy?"

She flinched. "No good 'idin,' you saw me! Wasn't causin' any 'arm, sir, oh no I wasn't! I'll just be goin,' I'll be goin,' goin' off nowhere…"

"You don't need to go anywhere." Sweeney wrapped his fingers around her wrist and shepherded her back into his tonsorial parlor. "This is your home now. Again. Don't you remember? This was our home fifteen years ago."

Lucy, still standing in a half-crouch as if an enormous cupped hand pressed down on her spine, shuffled into the room. Her eyes darted every which way. It seemed like she was looking at her surroundings as if she were discovering them for the first time, or, Sweeney prayed, rediscovering them after an aeon of amnesia.

"Our 'ome?" she repeated distantly.

"Yes!" A strange emotion buoyed up in Sweeney's chest, so foreign and forgotten it took him a moment to label it. It was hope. "This was our home. And we had—we _have_—a daughter. Johanna. She slept in a crib, right here. You remember. Lucy, please tell me you remember. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

She said nothing he could understand, just low, incomprehensible mutterings as she proceeded into the room, wringing her hands.

"Do you remember me, Lucy?" Sweeney Todd attempted to hush his voice to the same soft tone and volume that Benjamin Barker had so often used when speaking to his wife. He couldn't do it. The demon barber's gruff snarl sounded like a growl when he spoke quietly, more of a threat than a plea. "Your husband. Benjamin. Benjamin Barker."

She looked at him, straight at him, not over his shoulder. A faint spark, like a fire struggling to rise from cold embers, stirred in her eyes. His heart leapt. "Don't I know you?"

"Yes." He clutched her hands, hard, and she whined in protest, pulling away from the painful contact. He reached for her again, as gently as he could, and she was still looking at him. "You know me." His voice cracked, the timbre becoming smoother instead of rougher, the pitch tipping lower instead of higher; his vocal cords had forgotten how to behave when he was about to cry.

"Benjamin?" She tilted her head to one side as she spoke the word, as if she were trying to decide how the syllables tasted.

Sweeney almost cried out.

"Benny?"

No, that was wrong. She had always called him "Benjamin," saying it was beautiful and "Benny" sounded like a small boy's name. But she had remembered his name at first, right?

"Benjamin, love, just Benjamin. My Lucy…" He held her face in his hands. "Please tell me you remember." He was saying the same things over and over, but no other words would come.

"I remember." She giggled, and he could have sworn he heard hints of Lucy Barker's light, sweet laugh beneath the screechy chuckle. "You."

"What about Johanna? Our daughter? She had hair like yours, didn't she? And blue eyes? She looked just like you, didn't she?" With his arm around Lucy's shoulders, he led her to the small table where the photograph of Lucy holding an infant Johanna sat. "See?" He lifted it. "It's you and Johanna. Your daughter. _Our _daughter." _Come back to me, Lucy. I know you're there. Please come back. I've spent fifteen years yearning to see you again, now I want to see _you_, not…not…_

Lucy prodded the picture with a clawed hand, leaving a smudged, grimy fingerprint. Her fingernails were dirty. Sweeney had washed her hands, but he had been unable to scrub away fifteen years of filth under the nails, which stubbornly remained gray. "Johanna?"

"Yes. Johanna. She's…she's sixteen now. Remember her first birthday, Lucy, when I gave her a pink ribbon to put in her hair, and it was already so thick?" His voice rasped, unaccustomed to speaking with emotion, to use.

"Johanna." Lucy spoke the name again, testing it, probing it for meaning. "My Johanna?" The words came out like they were being read by a small child who barely had a grasp of written language.

"Yes. Yes!" Sweeney pried open her fingers, trying to slip the photograph into her hands. When he thought she had a grip on it, he let go. The frame plummeted to the floor, landing face up, the glass miraculously unbroken. Lucy's mild, aware, _alive _eyes stared up at Sweeney from the image, taunting him.

"Whoopsie!" Lucy skittered away, giggling again. "Dropped it! Not broke it, not broke it!"

"Yes, it's not broken." Sweeney picked up the photograph, almost cradling it.

"Don't I know you, mister? I remember you! You took me off the streets, you did! Right kind thing to do, yessir it is!" She grinned broadly, her blank eyes gazing at him.

_No…no, no, she was remembering…_ "No, Lucy, I'm…" He was about to say "Benjamin" again, but he wasn't Benjamin Barker anymore. He'd been saying "Benjamin" to jog her memory, but he couldn't say that was still his name. "I _was _Benjamin Barker."

"You was someone else?" She began to spin in place, arms flung out. "Nonsense, that is, mister! Nonny nonny nonsense, that is!" Suddenly she stopped spinning and lurched toward him, clutching his arm. "You shouldn't've brought me 'ere, sir! Shouldn't be 'ere yourself! Evil is 'ere! There's a witch what lives 'ere, sir, killin' the sky with smoke from 'er chimney! Smoke! Sign of the devil!"

Well, he had to agree with some of that. But she had been looking at the picture, she had been recalling things from fifteen years ago… "Lucy, do you remember me?"

"And 'oo is Lucy? Oh aye, that's me name!"

She had said that when he first found her. His heart felt as if lead were being pumped into it instead of blood, it was sinking so heavily. He would not get her to remember anything more, at least not tonight.

"Yes, love. It's your name."

Sweeney Todd felt moisture on his cheeks and he did not know how it had gotten there.

* * *

Nellie had sharpened her meat cleaver and should have been stripping bloody flesh away from skin and bone and useless organs from the corpses of Sweeney Todd's victims. The job was not only gruesome, it was time-consuming and exhausting, and she should get it over with before what remaining energy she had after a long day dwindled. But she was sitting on the floor of the bakehouse with her back against the door, deliberating, thinking to herself in the dry, oppressive heat.

In her mind, she ran over every recent incident that involved Sweeney's newfound brutality towards her. Yes, all right, he was angry at her for keeping the fact that Lucy was alive from him. But the cuts on her face, the insults, the death threats…were those really necessary? Of course, he had been killing men who came to his shop, men who had done nothing whatsoever to him, so it made sense that he could cause excessive pain and harm to someone he _believed_ had wronged him (even though she'd been trying to help). But still…did it mean nothing to him that she was letting him live upstairs rent free? That she was baking his victims into pies to hide his crimes? That she didn't bring the law to the tonsorial parlor and tell them a sob story about how he was abusing her and forcing her to cover up his murders so she wouldn't have to deal with his cruelty?

She heaved a sigh. The sometimes morose, sometimes irate, always tormented Sweeney Todd was the polar opposite of the naïve, kindhearted Benjamin Barker. Benjamin Barker had never paid much attention to Nellie Lovett, but when he had, it hadn't just been out of politeness. He was just a caring person who could ask an exhausted-looking neighbor how they were feeling on a rainy Monday morning and actually want to hear the answer. Now he didn't care to listen to a damn thing she said, whether she was commenting on the weather or declaring that she loved him.

What had they done to him in Australia? Or was it not what had happened to him in Botany Bay that had damaged him? Was it just the knowledge that he had been so terribly wronged, that he had been undeservingly punished with life in a Godforsaken penal colony so a lecherous judge could get to his wife?

The judge…

Well, Nellie certainly understood Sweeney's hatred. The judge had convicted him of a false charge, raped his wife (and destroyed her sanity), and stolen his daughter. The more she stewed on the judge's crimes, the more she felt a roiling anger swell in her stomach. Judge Turpin. It was _his _fault that gentle Benjamin Barker had been replaced with this tortured soul who raged against everything that walked on two feet and mistreated the woman who cared for him. No, it was not Sweeney's fault for cutting her face, or threatening her with his razor, or…or for garroting his customers, even. If not for Turpin, he would never have dreamed of doing such things.

Nellie had remarked earlier that Sweeney had killed Benjamin. But she had been wrong.

Normally when Mrs. Lovett dissected the bodies of Sweeney Todd's customers, she did not much care to look at their faces. But that night she did, because to her every face was that of Judge Turpin.

* * *

A/N: Well, if she blamed Sweeney for his actions towards her, she'd have to stop loving him, wouldn't she? And we can't have that. And I guess she doesn't blame him for murdering people, either, but we all know she never cared about that. Oh the joys of writing characters with twisted and/or absent morals.

No, I'm not going to tell all of you if Lucy was actually remembering her former life or if she was just parroting Sweeney. You decide.


	4. Anxiety

Blade of Madness

Chapter Four: Anxiety

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed. Not Sweenett…yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna, eventual Sweenett (maybe)

Author's Notes: Once again, it's been a while since I updated, hasn't it? sigh After I posted the last chapter, my fanfiction muses again abandoned me, but the muses that are in charge of my science fiction novel decided to throw a party. I need to get better control of those things. And I started college…that too.

Something else: I've watched the movie a few times since my last update, and I've noticed that Mrs. Lovett's accent is inconsistent; sometimes she says her h's ("that boy is drinking me out of house and home") and sometimes she doesn't, sometimes she says "my" ("above my meat pie emporium in Fleet Street") and sometimes she says "me…" so if it seems like I've forgotten to write Mrs. Lovett's accent into the dialogue, I've actually decided that the "h" was too important to leave out.

One more thing: in response to certain reviews, yes, I know that Mrs. Lovett _should _kick Sweeney Todd out of the barbershop and beat him over the head with a rolling pin for the way he's been treating her, but come on…she's Mrs. Lovett. This is the woman who so intensely believed a deranged serial killer could love her after she inadvertently caused the death of his wife that he was able to take advantage of her trust and push her into an oven.

* * *

Sweeney Todd dragged the razor across the man's throat, the keen blade slicing easily through the flesh. The man barely made a sound as the blood hissed from the wound. As the murderous barber performed this grisly task, he stared straight into the face of his victim. Watching the light fade from his unfortunate customers' eyes used to give him a brief, fierce rush of victory—_one closer to the judge_—as if enough murders would bring the lecherous slime himself back to the tonsorial parlor. Actually, many thoughts once ran through his head as his victims' hot blood drenched his sleeves: the vengeful _take that, useless biped!_, angry at the man just for being human, the cold and calculating _excellent, we're getting better; practice makes perfect! _and, occasionally, when his imagination pasted the judge's face over the face of the stranger in the chair, the keening _this is for what you did to Benjamin, Lucy, and Johanna Barker! _

It was different now. There was a strange, cathartic relief in the sight of spurting blood, but the snarl of _take that, useless biped_ was less tenacious, and the other voices were gone entirely. There were new ones, though, that spoke softly as his friend ripped through the neck of a customer; the despairing and unwelcome _this doesn't change what happened to Lucy_ and the occasional _I wonder how it would feel to do this to Mrs. Lovett._

Sweeney depressed the pedal beside the chair, and the man tumbled to the floor of the bakehouse with a dull thudding sound. He realized he had forgotten to drape a cloth over the man's front before killing him, and his lip curled with dissatisfaction; now Mrs. Lovett would snap at him for ruining the man's clothes, which could have fetched a decent price at a resale shop. Of course, she always cleaned the blood out of his clothes without any problem, but she didn't have time to do additional laundry as well as make the pies and take care of Toby and whatever the hell else she did the rest of the day. But of course, what irritated him most was her idea of selling his customers' clothing and other valuables they might have had with them. It was clever, and he hated her for that, because it meant she was useful—he shouldn't have needed that usefulness. She was always whining now about 

how he treated her so badly after all she'd done for him, especially now that the cuts he'd given her had started to heal and speaking didn't hurt her as much.

There came a sharp rapping from behind him. He sighed. Around the same time he modified the chair, he had installed a partition in the tonsorial parlor, hiding the small area where he slept—a space that contained a cot, a washbasin, and a midsize wooden box for his clothes, all given to him by Mrs. Lovett—from the view of his customers. It looked unprofessional. Now he made Lucy stay there as well, for the customers that he couldn't kill (because they had ties to the community or had brought their families into the barbershop) found her presence disconcerting. She stayed, but often tapped on the wall and called for him, only to forget why she had done so as soon as he opened the door. Now, he heard her singing.

"Lucy?" He wiped the blood from his razor as he went to the door and opened it. She flinched backward and yelped when she saw him. "Are you all right, love?"

She mumbled something. He couldn't make it out.

"Lucy?"

She clutched his arm suddenly. "Evil is 'ere, sir! Oh, you shouldn't be 'ere!"

"There's no evil here," he reassured her, prying her clutching hand loose and holding it.

"What're you doin' 'ere yerself, where the stench of evil's everywhere? It's from the witch, you know!" She looked up at him, her eyes unexpectedly wide with fear and shock. "You…ain't in league with 'er, is you?"

"No! No, of course not. Don't worry."

"That's why you're 'ere, ain't it?" She scrambled away from him, cowering in a corner. "You're in league with the witch!" She pounded on the floor. "I know you're down there!" she howled. "Let me out! _Let me out_!"

"It's all right, Lucy, it's all right." He took her elbow. "Would you like to go outside?"

"Let me out!" she wailed.

He took that as a yes. Gently, he led her out of the back room, across the tonsorial parlor, and out the door. "See? You're outside. Nothing's wrong."

Lucy glanced around, muttering.

"What was that?" Sweeney asked her, but she didn't reply.

Mrs. Lovett's ale garden was thronged with people, as usual; after all, it was just after noon, and the dinner rush was in full swing. Mrs. Lovett flitted from table to table, balancing enormous trays of meat pies on one hand. Toby followed her like a puppy with a jug of ale. As if she felt his gaze, Mrs. Lovett turned her face upward, her eyes searching out his; he turned away quickly.

A few seconds later, Sweeney heard footsteps; someone was rushing up the stairs. The footfalls were easily recognized as Mrs. Lovett's: harried, yet somehow rhythmic, and very irritating. He almost growled.

"Mr. Todd!" Her voice came, an angry hiss. "What are you doin' out 'ere, with your crazy wife, and with your _white _sleeve still drippin' blood to boot! You _want _to get found out? Get back inside, quick, and do somethin' about that blood!"

_Oh. Right._

He shot her a venomous look, angry at her for chastising him and even more angry that she had a very good point. "Come, Lucy."

He had to practically drag Lucy back into the tonsorial parlor, where she ambled in circles, occasionally pressing her face to the windows. He flipped the sign hanging in the doorway from "open" to "closed" before changing into a clean shirt.

To his surprise and aggravation, the bell on the tonsorial parlor's door sounded its bright chime as the door opened. "The sign says _closed_…" Sweeney growled, momentarily forgetting his usual behavior of being exceedingly polite to the customers. He whirled on the offender, only to see that it was not an absentminded customer, but Mrs. Lovett. "What do you want?" His growl was more pronounced now.

"She's gettin' worse, ain't she?" Mrs. Lovett folded her arms as she spoke, her voice soft, almost sympathetic.

"No."

Lucy suddenly let out a piercing shriek and backed away from the window. Mrs. Lovett raised her eyebrows and glanced pointedly at Mr. Todd.

"She's just…afraid." He went to her side. "Lucy, are you all right, my dear?"

"Hm?" Lucy cocked her head to one side, blinking repeatedly at the man who addressed her. She caught sight of Nellie and yelped, cowering behind Sweeney. "Witch! Devil's wife! Witch!"

Mrs. Lovett rolled her eyes. Sweeney could have slapped her. "Oh yeah, she's most definitely on the mend."

"Get out!"

"I've somethin' to say to you."

"Out! Or I'll…"

"What?" She interrupted coldly. "Kill me, and then 'ave no way to cover up your murders? Cut me again? I'm already scarred, so what's the bloomin' difference? You'll need to come up with some new threats, Mr. Todd."

"Fine. What is it?"

"You've thought about what I said?" She was using the sympathetic voice again.

"About what?"

"Her." Nellie nodded at Lucy, who was staring out the window and mumbling again. "It's been near to two weeks. You've seen what she's like."

He advanced on her. "And what is she like, pray tell?"

She had to tilt her head back quite a bit to look him in the eye, and he found himself reveling in the fact that he was taller than she. "Out of 'er mind. Barkin' mad. Loony. When was the last time she called you by your name? Either name?"

"Shut your mouth." Sparks could have flown from his eyes.

Mrs. Lovett shrugged. "All right then, don't tell me. I take it you know the answer." She paused. "You know, Mr. Todd, I really think Lucy Barker's dead. Madness can do that to a person, same as your razors."

"No. There's still hope."

"That's what I kept tellin' meself about you ever carin' for me, and just look 'ow well that turned out." In response to that, he swung at her with an open palm; she dodged. "Don't you lay a hand on me, you bastard!"

"And what will you do if I manage to strike you? You don't have your precious rollin' pin." He smirked.

"I'll bite you."

Mr. Todd burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of Mrs. Lovett's statement. Lucy, having no idea what was so amusing, nevertheless joined in with short, hysterical squeals that might have been giggles. Todd's laughter, however, was cut off by the sharp _crack! _of Lovett's palm against his cheek.

"Why, you…!"

He reached for her with clutching hands, but she scooted out of his reach. "See? Now 'ow do you like it!?" She fled for the door. "You ought to take that madwoman of yours to Bedlam," she whispered thickly, a single tear slipping down her cheek and oozing into one of the healing cuts. "She ain't goin' to get better and you know it!"

"You're so eager to get rid of Lucy, I wonder if you didn't poison her yourself," Sweeney seethed.

"I assure you, Mr. Todd, if I'd been the one to poison your weak little wife, she'd 'ave actually bloody died!" she howled. "Failin' to kill yourself with arsenic…you really think _I'd_ be that foolish?"

"_OUT!"_

Mrs. Lovett slipped out the door, clenching her teeth. She flew down the stairs, attracting some odd stares from her customers as she hurried through the door of the pie shop.

"Mum?" Toby set down the jug he had been toting on a table and followed her inside. He saw her leaning her forehead against a wall, her hands pressed to her face. "Mum, what's wrong?"

"Toby, mind the customers for a moment, would you, love?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Are you cryin'?"

"No, son, of course not." Nellie hastily wiped the back of her hand against her cheek, wincing.

"Oh." Toby studied Mrs. Lovett's face carefully. She looked exhausted and white, but that was nothing new. Maybe she had been crying; it was hard to tell with her eyes already so sunken.

"Just for a moment, all right?" She forced a smile onto her face—that still was a bit painful.

"All right, Mum." On an impulse, Toby threw his arms around her.

"Oh!" She patted her son's back with one hand, noticing that she no longer had to kneel to embrace him. "You sweet thing, you. Now run along, I won't be but a moment." She kissed the top of his head and he scampered off. She turned back to the wall, sinking to her knees, curling the hand that had struck Mr. Todd into a fist. It made her heartsick to slap him; she had already smacked him with her rolling pin twice, but somehow it was harder with her own hand. God knew after all that he'd been through, he needed a warm embrace, not a slap…but then, after all he'd put _her_ through, certainly he deserved _more_ than an angry palm against his face…

She pounded her fist against the wall with a frustrated cry. _Damn him, damn him…why do I care so much? Why does he hate me? What have I ever done…? Oh, Mr. T…_

Her hand was still shaking and clenched as she stood. As much as she would like to fling her arms around Sweeney Todd and hold him until the bitter ice of his new identity melted and he wept on her shoulder for all the wrongs that had been done to his former self…well…that wasn't going to happen if he hated her, would it? So she would just have to make do with slapping him for now.

She shook her head, brushed a few stray curls back from her face, and briefly fought with her facial muscles before succeeding in pasting on a very cheery, very false smile for the customers.

* * *

"Lucy?"

She wasn't paying attention to him. She still had her face plastered to the window, her nose crushed against the glass.

"Lucy? My love?"

She turned to face him. "Love, eh? Ain't that sweet? Tell me, sir…" No, no, he recognized that voice, that grotesque, lustful voice that she'd used when he found her on the street…_no, not my Lucy, she would never behave like this… _Her hands plucked at his shirtsleeve, at his belt. "Tell me, sir, 'ow would you like…"

"No!" He didn't want to hear what she would say next. He turned away from her, catching sight of both of their reflections in the mirror. The face of the man in the mirror was darkened, gaunt, and embittered, like a mask of Benjamin Barker's face crafted by an exquisitely artistic devil. The woman's face…another mask, a worn, empty-eyed facsimile of the lovely Lucy Barker, fashioned by a…a…

She chortled, a strange gurgling sound. "Now, come, come, dearie. What man don't like a little sweet…?"

"_Hush!_" Todd cut her off again, tangling his fingers in his wiry mane. _An incubus…a mask made not by an ordinary devil, but by an incubus…_ He shuddered. _Yes, an incubus. I would've picked more colorful language when describing the judge, but yes…he took my Lucy…Lucy, oh, my beloved Lucy, what has happened to you?_

"What man indeed?" Lucy continued. "Not unless…" She trailed off, her sentence becoming a strangled wail.

"What?" Sweeney turned to glance over his shoulder at her.

"Only…only the Devil 'imself! Oh, no, the Devil only associates 'imself with witches…witch! Witch!" Lucy huddled against the wall. "She's the Devil's wife, she is!"

The barber swallowed, feeling as if one of his own razors were lodged in his throat. "Lucy, calm down. No more of this…"

"Devil! She's the Devil's wife…_and 'e's the Devil!_" She flung out a trembling hand, pointing, accusing, at Sweeney Todd.

It took him a few moments to absorb that. Then it hit him, a feeling of horror and betrayal so strong it nearly made his knees buckle. "Me…? No! Lucy, I'm _your _husband! She…that _witch _isn't my wife! I can't bloody stand her! Lucy, listen to me!"

"Devil! _Devil!_" she shrieked, over and over. He raced to her side, clutching her hands, stroking her hair, willing his Lucy to come out from behind the terrified mask.

The doorbell sounded again, its merry chime a surreal contrast to Lucy's horrible screaming. "Out of control, is she?" came the uncharacteristically bleak voice of Mrs. Lovett. "The customers are wondering what's goin' on up 'ere."

Mr. Todd swiveled briefly away from the stricken woman beside him to glare at the baker, who was coming toward him—_Does she have a bloody death wish?_ "Unless you have a solution…!"

She was handing him a bottle of laudanum. "Tell 'er it's a magic potion to keep away witches or some such. Make sure she only takes a few sips. Heaven knows we've seen what stronger drugs 'ave done to 'er." She left, almost storming.

To Sweeney Todd's chagrin (curse Lovett for being right) and relief (Lucy was finally calm), Lucy took the laudanum and soon fell into a peaceful slumber, curled into a fetal position on the floor. He stayed beside her for a moment, holding her slackened hand. But there would be more customers soon, so he picked Lucy up, cradling her head against his shoulder, and laid her down on his cot. Once again, he couldn't bring himself to leave her immediately, and he remained by her side. She slept, still as death, and he stared at her for what must have been at least a quarter of an hour until he finally reopened his shop, fleeing from thoughts of his damaged wife by again becoming an empty-hearted killing machine.

* * *

Eventually the stream of customers coming to Mrs. Lovett's pie shop dwindled and stopped for the day, and she closed up, dreading the end of the distraction that work provided. It was hard—she still had to deal with customers gawping at her wounded face, and she was fairly sure she'd lost a few of them because of their shock or disgust—but it kept her focused. She had no time to worry about Mr. Todd's hatred of her (which she could still barely understand, having known for so long that she was meant for him) or his stubborn insistence on keeping the mad beggar woman with him.

She hung the wooden "closed" sign in the doorway and set to cleaning up her kitchen while Toby washed the tables in the ale garden. It was a relief to be able to stop smiling. Strange, how within the space of a few days she had become used to wearing a solemn expression when her whole life she'd been known as the woman who was always happy, optimistic, full of energy. When they condescended to speak to her, the other women from the neighborhood—oh, they all smiled through their teeth at each other, there was no warmth between any of them, all clawing for survival in the impoverished slum their district had become—would ask her, "How do you manage to keep your chin up? With times so hard, how are you happy?"

Her answer, if she chose to tell the truth, was that she always tried to think of reasons to be happy rather than all the terrible things that were going on. Right now, there were few: first and foremost, she had Toby, her son, who wanted nothing more than to do right by her.

Speaking of which, the door swung open and Toby walked in, rubbing his eyes.

"Don't touch your eyes now, love, not when there might be soap still on your 'ands. It'll sting like the devil."

"Wha…? Oh. Yes, mum."

"You tired, son?" Nellie slipped the few knives that still remained on the countertop into a drawer. She'd need them later, but of course, she couldn't very well have Toby asking why. "Come 'ere."

Toby came to her side, and he slumped against her, exhausted. She laughed, supporting him. "I don't think I'm even gon'na need gin tonight," he mumbled.

"You know," Nellie remarked, ruffling his hair, "I've been thinkin' we ought'a wean you off the gin."

"Really?" Toby looked up at her, brow creased. "Why? I dunno if I can sleep wifout it most nights."

"'Cause of the workhouse. I know. We'll find some other way to get you to sleep. I know you're a bit old for this, but 'ow about I read to you?"

"Yeah!" Toby's eyes lit up. "You know, Mum, I don't know much about readin.'"

"Well, maybe you'll learn a bit, eh?"

"Yeah. But…Mum?" He stepped back, looking faintly confused.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you think I shouldn't 'ave gin anymore?"

"Well, it's not exactly cheap, love. And I 'eard it keeps you from growin'. You're already shootin' up, mind you, but it don't 'urt to be safe, now do it?" There was one other reason, but it involved something she had learned from her…unusual experience…with human bodies. Certainly she wasn't going to tell Toby that.

He nodded. "All right," he said through a yawn.

"You just wash your face and put your pajamas on, then. I'll be just a moment."

Toby staggered off. While he was getting ready for bed, Mrs. Lovett searched her bookshelf for a book that would be suitable to read to Toby. Decades earlier, just after her marriage to her first husband, Nellie had gone through a phase when she had purchased tens of children's books, hoping that soon she would have a child of her own to whom she could read. Of course, she had been forced to sell many of those books in recent years, but she still had a few of them. After a quick perusal, she selected three of them, deciding that Toby could choose which one he wanted to hear. He was a simple thinker, but not dull-witted, and she was fairly certain he would soon be able to read by himself.

Toby, in his pajamas and curled up under a blanket on the couch, was half-asleep when she got to him. He still wanted to hear her read, though, and she got halfway through one story before she realized that her son was fast asleep. Casting a fond glance back at him as she left, Nellie went to replace the books.

Following that was her most grisly task of the day—or the night, really. She had long ago become used to the stench of rotting or burning flesh as well as the strange, sickly sight of various human organs and body parts strewn about as she dissected the dead men. She had fashioned a pair of long gloves for herself out of an old tablecloth to avoid getting her hands slimy with humors and blood; that had helped. Mostly what she did when she chopped up the corpses was daydream about herself and Mr. Todd and the life that awaited them after Judge Turpin's death.

That had changed. That night as she took her knife and cleaver to the meat, she pasted Judge Turpin's face over those of the cadavers, just as she had done since the night she first tried to convince Sweeney that Lucy was hopelessly deranged.

Many people who wouldn't be missed by Londoners had come to Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor that day, and Mrs. Lovett was completely worn out by the time she had completed her macabre chore. She changed into a nightgown and splashed small dashes of perfume on her wrists and neck to cover whatever traces of the bakehouse's stench might have clung to her—yes, it was nighttime, but she couldn't stand smelling like rotten corpses even though there was no one around to notice.

It was quiet upstairs, she noticed abruptly. Sometimes Mr. Todd paced upstairs, but even on the nights when he did nothing but brood and admire his razors she would hear him occasionally get up and walk around. Could he actually be sleeping? There was no noise from the beggar, either—no scuttling feet, screaming, or half-whimpered singing. Then again, she might be huddled in a corner muttering to herself.

Nellie walked upstairs as quietly as she could manage. Her weary leg muscles complained, having already braved the steps to and from the bakehouse many times that day. She ignored them. She knew Sweeney hated it when she used the stairs that led directly to the upper story without her having to use the door to the barbershop, but that was just too bad, wasn't it?

The door she used opened to the small, partitioned area in the back where Sweeney (and, presumably, the beggar woman) slept. The beggar was lying on Sweeney's cot, covered in a blanket, apparently still under the influence of the laudanum she had drunk earlier. Sweeney was on the floor beside her, one arm draped loosely over her shoulders, also asleep. Nellie got down on her hands and knees and crawled to him. She could see his face twitching, his forehead creasing, his mouth pulled into a grimace. Was he having a nightmare?

She leaned close to him and murmured, "Shh, love," whispering so he wouldn't recognize her voice should it enter into his dream. "Hush now. It'll be all right." _Listen to me. Am I tryin' to convince 'im or meself? I know 'e would kill me if I woke 'im. _He seemed to become still, though.

Seeing Mr. Todd sleeping made her remember how heavy her own eyelids were. She sank to the floor beside him, her eyes drifting shut almost of their own accord. She was facing Sweeney's back; if she moved much closer, she could fit her body to his like a shell. Fighting temptation, she moved in the opposite direction.

_Cor, I'm tired…I'll just rest 'ere for a moment…_

She was asleep within seconds.

* * *

The phrase "rude awakening" may be a cliché, but it certainly applied to the way Mrs. Lovett woke the next morning.

"What…the _hell…_are you doing?"

Nellie blinked, clearing her sleep-blurred vision. There was a dull, persistent throb at the back of her head, and she realized that Mr. Todd's hand was fisted in her curls, lifting her up; he shook her, and she hissed in pain. "I said, what the _hell _are you doing?"

She came close to flinching at the rage in his eyes. It was almost enough to make her pity Judge Turpin for being the object of Sweeney Todd's wrath. Almost. "'M sorry…it was quiet, and I came up 'ere to check on you…" Her tired brain struggled to string words together. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

"When I first wake up," he growled, "you are the _last _thing I want to see."

Nellie blinked again. As far as she could tell, it was still dark. "It's night. What woke you?"

"A nightmare. Coincidentally, a nightmare about wakin' up and findin' you there next to me. And I wake up and see that my nightmare's come true. You're bloody tryin' to make me miserable, aren't you?"

"Sorry," Nellie mumbled again, her sleepiness making her forget to be angry with him for his hurtful words. Half the time when she retaliated against his poor treatment of her, she was only posturing, because what she truly wanted to do was soothe the anger that made him lash out at her.

"I should cut you for this." He let go of her hair, and her head dropped heavily to the floor. She looked up at him.

"So do, then let me stay."

He scowled. "What are you goin' on about?"

"You mean you ought'a cut me for fallin' asleep next to you. So if you cut me, can I still stay?"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine." He reached for his razor (Mrs. Lovett found herself wondering at the fact that he kept it in its holster even while he slept) and it sang through the air before Nellie could even flinch. She felt the cut, a shallow, nearly-horizontal slash intersecting with the two scars on her forehead, before she even saw the blade's flash.

Calmly, she wiped away the blood with the back of her hand. "Right, then. Good night, Mr. T."

He grunted, turning away from her and lying down once more.

The fresh wound twinged, but she drifted back into slumber again anyway.

* * *

The next day was a slow one for Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor. He spent much of his time by the window, alternately glaring out the window and brooding. When he brooded, it was mostly on events of the previous day.

He had almost given up trying to puzzle out the woman downstairs. What sort of person accepted an act of violence in return for an act of affection? Not affection, even—all she had done was sleep beside him, not even touching him. And after she'd reacted so defensively to his punishment of her after her lies…well, he'd thought that meant she didn't have feelings for him anymore. So what was she doing wanting to sleep next to him after she'd called him a bastard and slapped him earlier that day? He remembered the flare of rage that had rose within him when he woke to find Mrs. Lovett lying a few centimeters away—why did she still want him?

Why did she want him and Lucy didn't?

He'd spent fifteen years spent laboring in a godforsaken hellhole in a savage land, nursing precious memories of his beautiful Lucy and his little Johanna, escaping from grim reality by imagining himself at home with his family. But he had come home to find that his Lucy had been driven to madness by the lecherous Judge Turpin, and God only knew what he was doing to Johanna. And in place of a loving family, he got this clingy, conniving little bitch of an accomplice. He occasionally wondered if the fact that she was covering his crimes was worth leaving her alive—but of course, there was likely no other pie baker in London who would be willing to cut up bodies for pie filling.

And Lucy…oh, Lucy. What he wouldn't give for Lucy to be herself again. If he could make a bargain with the Devil himself, sell the soul that barely existed anymore, to bring Lucy back…or, even better, swap Mrs. Lovett's sanity (well, maybe sanity wasn't the right word; _lucidity_, then) for Lucy's.

Suddenly he realized what he was doing. He was thinking of Lucy as, well…mad. He was thinking that it would take a bargain with the Devil to heal her. _It must be because of that insufferable woman, _he snapped inwardly. _She's been tellin' me that there's no hope for Lucy. But she's wrong. She just wants me to pay attention to her. Well, she'll get some attention if she keeps tryin' to convince me of this bollocks about my poor Lucy, but it won't be the kind she wants…as long as she doesn't have that damn rollin' pin with her, I hate that thing …_

He cast a glance at the back room, where he knew Lucy was, even though he couldn't hear her. When she had woken up that morning, she had shrieked at him that he was the Devil, and he had had to leave her sight before she would calm down. As far as he knew, she was still curled into a fetal position on his cot, whispering to herself.

The door over the parlor's door announced someone's arrival. A customer? No, it was that damnable baker again, balancing a tray of food. "Brought you and your crazy wife some dinner. No, I didn't give you less than I gave 'er."

He said nothing.

"Mr. Todd, what do you think it'd be like if Lucy were better?"

He hadn't expected that. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" she paced closer to him. "Would she be all right with you killin' folk and hatin' everyone with a face and a beatin' 'eart?"

"Stop that," he hissed. He didn't want to think about the answer to that.

"Even if she 'adn't gone 'round the twist, would she still love you? I mean, she loved Benjamin Barker, who was…" She trailed off. The sudden tenderness in her voice made Mr. Todd's lip curl with distaste. So had she been lusting after him even before he had been sent to Australia? "…a kind, sweet soul. Don't you think she might find Sweeney Todd a bit…scary?"

"Of course she'd still love me!" He burst out.

"Mr. T…" She came to his side. "You murder people. You really think she could look past that, when once you wouldn't think to harm a fly?"

"_You _can."

"I ain't Lucy." Her voice was almost a whisper.

Speaking of which, Lucy screamed. "I 'ear that voice! It's 'er! The Devil's wife!"

Nellie sighed, almost irritated, then shouted in the direction of the scream: "Tell me, dearie, 'ow can I possibly be 'is wife when 'e can't bloody stand me?"

Sweeney came close to chuckling. _Funny, I said nearly the exact same thing earlier…_

"Just…think about it. And try to eat more. This mornin' you didn't touch your breakfast." Mrs. Lovett went out.

Mr. Todd's eyes were closed in agony. Of course Lucy would love him if…_when_…she recovered. Mrs. Lovett was wrong. She had to be.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Sweeney. It won't work, I promise. I wonder if you're getting angry at Mrs. Lovett when she's telling you Lucy is hopeless because a part of you knows she's right.

A bit of a filler chapter, I know, but there are details in this chappie that become IMPORTANT later. (And I got to write about Mrs. Lovett slapping Sweeney and calling him a bastard, even if she regretted it). I'm aware that Mrs. Lovett's line about actually succeeding in killing Lucy had she been the one to poison her may have surprised some of you, but keep in mind that Mrs. Lovett is still an amoral psycho. I love her, but she's an amoral psycho and there's no getting around it. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Lovett "accidentally" convinced Lucy to kill herself.

Anyway, the next chapter will be quite eventful, I promise; for one thing, Anthony shows up for the first time…and Sweeney will actually get off his ass and do something productive rather than just angst all the time.


	5. Schemes

* * *

Blade of Madness

Chapter Five: Schemes

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed. Not Sweenett…yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, eventual Sweenett (maybe)

Author's Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! My muses have returned!

* * *

Mr. Todd was fairly certain he had been able to shrug off Mrs. Lovett's warnings that Lucy was hopelessly mad. But that comment about even a sane Lucy being frightened of Sweeney Todd kept echoing in his mind over the course of the next few days, and he began seriously considering ignoring everything that came out of Mrs. Lovett's mouth. For a short time, he succeeded, saying nothing to her but insults, but of course it couldn't last.

"You know, Mr. T., I haven't 'eard you mention killin' the Judge recently," she remarked one particularly cold night when she brought him his supper.

Despite his recent success with tuning out her voice, he had only been tuning out comments that he had heard from her before, and ignoring a statement that implied he had forgotten his revenge was unacceptable.

"That might be because I have no desire to talk to you."

"So you 'aven't forgotten why you started killin' in the first place."

"Of course not!"

"Far as I know, every time you've said the words 'of course' to me, you've been lyin.'"

He only glared at her for that. She stared frankly back at him. He noticed that, though her cuts had healed to thin livid pink lines, the scar that crossed her lips dragged down the corner of her mouth, giving her a rather comical lopsided look. A brief rush of victory shot through him at the sight of the disfiguration, even if it was slight.

"It used to be every time I tried to talk to you, you kept goin' on about 'ow you were goin' to find a way to the Judge, even though 'e denounced your business and all. Now you're just poutin' 'cause Lucy's afraid of you, and keeps tryin' to escape 'cause she thinks you're the Devil, tryin' to lock 'er up in Hell…"

"Get out."

"So when are you plannin' to actually get off your arse and kill the Judge?"

"Out, I said!"

"Oh, so you ain't goin' to do anythin,' just keep waitin' for a miracle to convince 'im to come back 'ere, though 'e swore not to. Brilliant plan, Mr. T. Couldn't o' thought of a better one meself."

He advanced on her, razor in hand. With an almost resigned sigh, she lifted her rolling pin up to her shoulder. He started in spite of himself; he hadn't noticed she was carrying it.

"What, you think I'd ask you a question that would irk you if I wasn't armed?"

"You," he growled, "are a miserable, intolerable little bitch."

She tilted her head to one side, as if contemplating something deeply. "Miserable and intolerable…I think you've used that one already—two days ago, if me memory serves. No, wait, two days ago I was a 'miserable, _insufferable _little bitch.' I'd tell you to stop callin' me those things, but you're so blasted uncreative at it…"

"Get…the hell…out!"

"Mr. Todd…" She let the rolling pin hang benignly by her side. "You didn't used to talk to me much, but when you did, it was always about the judge. You may not 'ave a plan for gettin' 'im 'ere, but you've at least got a plan for exactly 'ow 'e'll die once you get 'im."

"You don't care," he spat.

_No, Mr. Todd, I really don't, but I have this ridiculous idea that's been bangin' around in me skull about 'ow to change things, and I bloody 'ope it don't come to that, but just in case…I need to know. Wouldn't be too sad to see the judge die for turnin' you into what you are, though… _"But you do. I know you like broodin' on it, or you used to."

Sweeney turned away from her. He didn't particularly want to speak to Mrs. Lovett, even about the judge; he only wanted to be alone with Lucy, to try to trigger the memories that had been buried (not destroyed, surely not!) by her fifteen years as a beggar. Besides, he was still particularly angry at Mrs. Lovett for a confrontation that had happened two days before; he had seen Toby come out of Lovett's room one morning—presumably, the boy had wanted her to comfort him after a nightmare—and Sweeney had said to her, "You can't get me to touch you, so you go to Toby. My, you are desperate." None of the customers had actually inquired as to the origin of the distinctly hand-shaped bruise on his cheek that had resulted from the incident, but he had gotten several odd looks. He vaguely recalled calling her a "miserable, insufferable little bitch" after she had slapped him.

But if he didn't say anything, she would think he had given up on his revenge. He couldn't let her think that. He couldn't let _himself _think that.

"He'll know what he's done."

"Mm. So you gon'na tell 'im you're Benjamin Barker?"

"Yes." The familiar fury that used to flare in his stomach at the mere thought of Turpin's name flickered and sparked like a fading fire reluctant to be rekindled. He struggled to reignite it again, replaying the carefully planned scene of the judge's death in his head. "I'll give him some sort of hint at first—make him think. _Confuse _him, make him wonder what's going on. Make him…_scared._" He pictured Turpin's murky, smug eyes swirling with doubt and fear, searching for the biting, bittersweet, murderous yearning that should have accompanied the image. "Then I'll remind him of exactly what he did, and who I am…tell him how could he remember me; I'm just another prisoner he sentenced unfairly." _Now imagine the look on his face when he realizes. Imagine how that will be your cue to kill… _"Then I'll tell him that Benjamin Barker is taking his revenge. And then I'll rip his fat, lecherous throat out, with one of my friends…and I'll make it…_last…_" _Yes, picture the blood spurting from the wounds, feel the heat of it spattering into your clothes, your face…the look of helplessness and agony in his eyes…him choking, struggling…you've finally avenged Lucy… _But Lucy's name immediately shifted his thoughts to the woman huddled in the back room, singing to herself.

"Hm. Lovely."

"Yes. It will be."

She was quiet for a moment. "You'll 'ave to do somethin' to get 'im 'ere. You know that."

He said nothing.

"Mr. Todd, I may 'ave said to wait before, but that's only when you can expect somethin' to 'appen if you wait. If you want to kill Turpin, or 'elp Lucy—though that's impossible, but of course you can't get that through your 'ead—you'll 'ave to be a bit more…I dunno…proactive."

"Leave me."

Well, that was better than "get out." She left, and as she descended the stairs, she was nearly knocked over by the blond sailor boy who was enamored with Johanna. He offered her a cursory apology before bursting into Sweeney's shop.

"Mr. Todd!"

The boy's voice startled him. "What is it, Anthony?"

"I've found her!"

It took Mr. Todd a moment to understand. "You've found Johanna?"

Anthony paused to brush a few loose strands of his hair behind one ear. He was disheveled and his eyes were underscored with gray lines of sleeplessness, as if he had been so intent on his search for Johanna he had forgotten to sleep. "He has her locked in a madhouse."

"A madhouse?"

"Yes, sir. Fogg's Asylum. I've circled the place a dozen times. It's a fortress!"

A slow smile crept over Todd's face. "Then she's as good as rescued."

Anthony's brow furrowed. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Todd, but…?"

Mr. Todd cut him off. "Where do you suppose all the wigmakers of London go to obtain their hair?"

Anthony blinked, thrown by the apparent change in subject. The barber ignored this and continued.

"Bedlam. They get their hair from the lunatics at Bedlam. We'll set you up as a credible wigmaker. And I'll write to this Mr. Fogg offerin' the highest price for hair the exact shade of Johanna's."

Just beginning to follow, the sailor nodded. "And I can bring her back here?"

"Yes…" Mr. Todd trailed off, struck by an idea. Lucy had remembered Benjamin Barker, if ever so briefly, and being in the barbershop had also seemed to jog her memory. But if she could see Benjamin and Johanna Barker—older, yes, but still—would she remember herself? Could she see that she was with her family again? "In fact, make certain that you bring her back here."

Anthony rushed forward and gripped Sweeney's hand tightly. "Thank you! Thank you, my friend!"

* * *

"Mum?"

Nellie looked up from the pie dough she was pounding. Toby was standing by the door, having just unlocked it in anticipation of the first customers; Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium opened at eleven in the morning. "Yes, love?"

"I been thinkin.'"

"About what?"

"Well…I've come to really like workin' in your shop, and you know I've always fancied actually 'elpin' you make the pies."

Nellie's heart began to race, but she struggled to maintain her composure. Her mouth had always been skilled at lying; the rest of her face, her eyes especially, was a different story. "Yes, I know."

"And I'm gettin' older, so I was wonderin'…I was wonderin' if maybe I could be your apprentice."

"Apprentice?" Nellie repeated, giving herself time to think of an excuse. Of course, she would love to take Toby on as an apprentice—teach him the fundamentals of baking first, then eventually show him her personal touches and techniques—but there was the small matter of the bakehouse being littered with human remains. She could always continue to prepare the meat herself and show Toby how to make the dough and roll the crust in the kitchen, but eventually he'd want to learn how to make the pie filling.

Toby nodded. "Yeah. I decided I wan'na be a baker like you, Mum."

She smiled at him. "Ain't you sweet. You sure that's what you want? Or are you just sayin' that 'cause you wan'na be like your mum?"

"No! I really do think that's what I wan'na do. Bakin,' I mean."

"Hmm," said Nellie. _Well, I suppose if I can eventually figure out a way to do a more thorough job cleanin' up downstairs…maybe… _"Well, it seems a right sound idea to me, love. But I do think you should give it a bit more time, eh? Make sure bakin' is what you want? After all, you've such a fine voice—you could be a performer."

Toby was quiet for a moment. "All right. I'll think about it."

He sounded rather miserable. Nellie came out from behind the counter and hugged him. "I ain't completely prepared to take you on as an apprentice right now, love. But I didn't say _no_, did I?"

"No."

"Well, all right. Be patient, son. All good things come to those who can wait."

He nodded, smiling slightly.

"Now that that's settled, 'ow about…" She was cut off by the sound of familiar, heavy footsteps descending the staircase—the indoor staircase that Sweeney Todd never used, because he was more likely to run into her if he used that route. "Mr. Todd…?"

"What?" He growled at the stunned expressions of Mrs. Lovett and Toby. "You've never seen mebefore?"

"You've made yourself rather scarce the past few days," Nellie remarked.

"Of course I have. _You're _down here."

Toby glowered. His glowering skills were not nearly on par with Mr. Todd's, but Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but appreciate the effort.

Sweeney went on addressing Mrs. Lovett, unperturbed. "Soon, Anthony will be bringin' Johanna here. I have a decent view from the upstairs window, but you can better see faces from down here. Keep a sharp eye out. As soon as you see them, tell me. Do you understand?"

"Of course I do," replied the baker slowly. "So…you'll be introducin' yourself to Johanna? You'll be tellin' 'er you're 'er father."

Sweeney said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

Nellie said, "Just make sure she don't meet 'er mother."

"I have every intention of Johanna meetin' her mother."

Nellie's eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You really want Johanna to know 'ow…damaged 'er family is?"

"Lucy will remember Johanna when I tell her." He turned to leave, the sight of his retreating back practically shouting _Don't you dare say otherwise _at Mrs. Lovett.

Nellie heaved a sigh as soon as he was gone.

"Mum?" Came Toby's hesitant voice.

"Hm?"

"What's Mr. Todd doin'? Who's Johanna?"

"Johanna's 'is daughter. See, there's this young sailor boy—Anthony, I think—and 'e's in love with Johanna. And—oi, I never realized 'ow confusin' this is—Johanna is Judge Turpin's ward, and it was the judge what…hurt Mr. Todd's wife. So Anthony got Johanna away from Turpin, and now 'e's bringin' 'er 'ere, and Mr. Todd thinks 'is crazy wife will suddenly be sound in the 'ead again when she sees Johanna." She tilted her head to the side, eyeing Toby's slightly befuddled expression. "Did you get all that, love?"

"Er…I think so," said Toby. He paused for a moment. "If Mr. Todd 'adn't 'urt you, I might feel sorry for 'im."

Nellie smiled bleakly. "Now you see why I can't turn 'im out."

"I wish you would," said Toby, hanging his head.

"Toby? Are you cryin,' love?"

"I know you fancy 'im, but 'e's so bad to you! I just want 'im gone…" The boy wiped at his eyes, which were indeed filling with tears.

"Oh! Come 'ere, son."

Toby stepped into Mrs. Lovett's open arms. He had to bend over slightly to rest his head on her shoulder. "I wish it was just you and me, Mum. I 'ate always worryin' that 'e's gon'na do somethin' terrible to you."

She patted his back. "What a sweet, affectionate child it is."

"I mean it, Mum!"

"I know, son, I know." She paused. "You_ are_ cryin.'" She could feel the dampness of his tears seeping through the material of her dress, and on the bare skin of her shoulder. "It's all right, love. It'll be all right. Things are just rough right now, but that means they can only get better, eh?"

She felt Toby nod. For all his talk about protecting her from Mr. Todd, he needed her. He was, after all, still a boy, and he needed a mother like any child did.

It was a rather nice feeling, being needed.

Nellie held her son until he stopped crying.

* * *

Anthony returned that evening, after both Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium and Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor were closed. Mrs. Lovett was watching as Sweeney had instructed her, and she shouted a warning up the stairs before Anthony and Johanna reached 186 Fleet Street.

Anthony had Johanna dressed as a boy, with a cap covering her hair. Sweeney invited them into the barbershop and barely heard Anthony's explanation that he would be gone for at least a quarter hour to fetch a coach for himself and Johanna. For even dressed as a boy, Johanna was indeed the spitting image of Lucy. Sweeney had trouble tearing his eyes away from Johanna's clear blue eyes—so solemn and haunted, so different from the playful sparkle he used to see in Lucy's eyes—or the slope of her jaw, or the shape of her nose, linking every feature to himself or Lucy. _My daughter…_

Sweeney was jerked from his reverie when Anthony kissed Johanna goodbye and rushed out.

"It's good of you to let me stay here, sir," said Johanna, smoothing her jacket.

"Yes, er…you are welcome…I'm afraid I have nowhere for you to sit…"

"It's quite all right," Johanna replied, sitting on top of the chest by the door.

That was when Lucy came in.

She had been in the back room; Sweeney had decided that he preferred the reunion to happen after Anthony had left. He forced down a painful, apprehensive swallow as Lucy surveyed her surroundings and her eyes fell upon Johanna. "Ah, I know you!"

Sweeney's heart leapt.

Johanna, startled, looked at Sweeney for explanation. It took him a moment to think of what to say. "I'm sorry, I should have…this is Lucy." He stood and went to his wife's side. "She was living on the streets."

"That was…charitable of you," said Johanna politely.

"You're Judge Turpin's pretty li'l ward! Johanna, in'nit?"

Johanna blinked. "Yes, ma'am, that's me."

"What you doin' 'ere, dearie? Thought the ol' judge kept yer locked up."

The young woman twisted her long, pale fingers and said nothing.

"Lucy," Sweeney whispered into the former beggar's ear, "do you recognize her from somewhere else?"

"Eh?" said Lucy at full volume. "Ain't she pretty?"

Again, Johanna didn't react.

Sweeney gripped Lucy's arm. "Are you sure?"

She just looked at him, or rather, she tried; her eyes ended up focusing on something above his right shoulder.

The barber swallowed past a lump in his throat. His daughter, who he had thought he would never see again, was three feet away, and his wife was right by his side, not recognizing him or their child.

Could he still tell Johanna the truth, or at least, that he was her father? How would he go about doing such a thing? Beginnings of introductions flitted through his head: _Johanna, did Judge Turpin ever tell you about your real father? Johanna, does this the child in this photograph look familiar to you? Johanna, do you remember your parents?_

He could tell her the entire story. He could tell her how innocent Benjamin Barker was transported on a trumped-up charge and how his wife Lucy had been attacked by the vile, lecherous Judge Turpin. He could tell her how Benjamin Barker returned to London a changed man and had sworn revenge on the man who had brutally destroyed his family. But could he bring himself to tell Johanna that the beggar was her mother? What would Johanna think of that, knowing that her mother had been so hurt by an attempted suicide? Suddenly a new, painful thought struck him: from Johanna's point of view, it would look like her mother had attempted to abandon her.

Johanna now had a bloodthirsty murderer for a father and a beggar woman with a damaged memory for a mother. _Would I wish the burden of such a family on my own child? _Mr. Todd wondered briefly. But his answer quickly came: no, he wouldn't. He still loved his daughter—part of him wanted to take her in his arms and weep, cradle her face in his hands and tell her her she had grown into such a lovely young woman and he was so proud of her—but Sweeney Todd was a single-minded, mechanical killer, almost as much a tool of vengeance as one of his razors. Sweeney Todd could not be a father to Johanna, certainly not with the girl's mother still…

"Johanna."

She looked up at him, eyes luminous beneath the cap.

"I understand you were Judge Turpin's ward."

She nodded wordlessly.

"Was he good to you?"

Johanna didn't reply for a moment. Then: "That house of his was a cage. I grew up…" she paused. "Like a captive bird. But you have to blind a bird if you want it to sing in a cage. And I couldn't be blinded. I wanted…I wanted to sing."

Lucy had once had such a beautiful voice. Did Johanna sing as well?

"You like to sing."

Johanna shrugged. "I never learned. I do…I suppose I like to sing."

She was so serious, too serious for a girl her age. A young woman should be laughing, happy, with no dark shadows to cloud her dreams. "Sing somethin.'"

She looked at him, bemused, almost hurt. He realized he had been too harsh and direct. That was the way he spoke to the baker downstairs; his daughter deserved better. "Please. Would you sing somethin?'"

Johanna twisted her hands again. "I'm afraid I don't know any songs, sir. The ones I sang, I made up, and I don't always remember them."

He nodded. "Did Judge Turpin ever hurt you?"

The question seemed to startle her.

"The judge has wronged many people, child."

Johanna avoided his eyes when she spoke. "No. He never hurt me. But I never would have married him."

_Dear God, he wanted to _marry _her!? That lecherous slime…she's only sixteen! _Sweeney felt his bloodlust flood his mind in full force, and he found his hand curling around his razor.

The silence hung in the air, palpable. Even Lucy was quiet, staring mindlessly out the window, having lost interest in Sweeney and Johanna.

_Johanna, my pet, my sweet…I hope your life turns out to be far better than mine. But I doubt I will be a part of it, _Sweeney thought. The backs of his eyes burned with tears he refused to allow to form. It was torture, having his own daughter sitting there before him, knowing him only as a friend of Anthony who had been kind (ha!) enough to let her wait there. She would not be a part of his life after that night. He could no longer bear the sight of her, so beautiful, so mature…he had missed seeing his daughter grow up…

_Enough. I can't look at her anymore. _"You may want to see my neighbor downstairs. She made a pot of tea this evenin' and there would likely be some left for you."

"Thank you, sir." Johanna stood and left.

"Goodbye, Johanna," Sweeney whispered as the door swung shut.

* * *

Toby had just fallen asleep when Mrs. Lovett heard the light tap on the door, and she was mildly surprised to find Mr. Todd's daughter waiting there. "Johanna. Come in, dear. Somethin' I can do for you?"

"Mr. Todd said you'd made some tea earlier this evening?"

"Ah, yes, and you'd like some, I take it." Nellie peered into the teapot that still rested on the counter. "Looks like there's some left, and it 'asn't quite gone cold yet." She fetched a cup from the cupboard and filled it for Johanna. "Would you like sugar?"

She nodded. Mrs. Lovett offered Johanna the sugar bowl and a spoon, and the young woman quietly leveled off a heaping spoonful against the edge of the bowl and mixed the sugar into her tea.

_So quiet. She looks exactly like 'er mum—bit prettier, though, in me opinion—but she don't act a thing like 'er. Poor thing, I 'ope the judge never…_

"You all right, dear?"

Johanna nodded. "Fine, ma'am, thank you."

"Bet you're excited for that sailor boy to take you 'round the world, ain't you?" Nellie probed.

"How did you know where we were going?" Johanna looked up, brow furrowed.

"Just guessed, dear. So you're not excited, then? I find this 'ole thing quite romantic, really."

"I suppose," Johanna murmured, sipping her tea.

_She certainly don't act like a young girl bein' swept off 'er feet. I wonder if she's truly in love with that boy or just wanted to get away from Turpin. Well, even if the boy 'as a habit of burstin' in at odd moments, 'e seems sweet enough…she'll likely warm to 'im…_

Nellie moved to stand behind Johanna and laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Are you scared?"

Johanna put her cup down. Her hands were trembling.

"It's all right, dear. You can talk to me. You're 'ow old? Sixteen? Never been out of your 'ouse before and suddenly you're leavin' all you know be'ind? It's scary."

"That wasn't my house." Nellie almost jumped at the anger in Johanna's voice. _Got a bit of fire in 'er, this one._

"No, I imagine it wasn't."

"I am afraid," whispered Johanna. "But less afraid than I was of my fa…Judge Turpin. I'm afraid that…" She trailed off.

"Go on," Mrs. Lovett urged gently.

"I'm afraid the nightmares will never go away."

Mrs. Lovett squeezed Johanna's shoulder. "Keep your chin up, eh? Try to think of sweeter things than the real world before you sleep. Usually works for me."

"Thank you," Johanna said, but her arm felt stiff under Nellie's hand. She moved away, realizing that Johanna was unaccustomed to any sort of affection. _Poor child, I bet if she'd 'ad a proper mother, she'd be so different. Well, she's weathered the 'ardship better than either of 'er parents, at least._

"Why don't you finish your tea, then?"

Johanna nodded and picked up her teacup again. She had just finished drinking her tea when Anthony knocked on the door; apparently he had noticed Johanna though the window.

"Your sailor boy's 'ere, dear."

"Anthony," she whispered, rushing into his arms as he came inside.

"Ain't this sweet," Nellie smiled, coming to the door.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Anthony, still holding Johanna with one arm.

"You're quite welcome, young man. Now you take care of 'er."

"I will," Anthony swore.

Johanna said, "Thank you, Mrs. Lovett."

"You're quite welcome." Mrs. Lovett patted Johanna's cheek. "Why don't you 'ave some fun leavin' all this dirt and grime behind?"

Johanna smiled for the first time that night. "Yes, ma'am."

Mr. Todd came downstairs as Anthony and Johanna were climbing into their coach.

"Mr. T.!"

He said nothing, just watched the coach drive away.

"Did you tell 'er?"

"Tell 'er what?" he snarled.

"You know. That you're 'er father."

"No. I couldn't do that to her. She deserves a better family than…than me."

"Givin' up your daughter for 'er own sake," Nellie mused. "That's selfless, that is."

Again, Sweeney said nothing.

Nellie dared to reach up and rest her hand on Sweeney's arm. "Well, I say that makes you a good father, Mr. Todd."

Anger flared in Sweeney's chest, almost comparable to the red-hot fury he had felt when hearing that Turpin had tried to marry Johanna. He had just made one of the most difficult choices of his life, and Mrs. Lovett was trying to bloody understand what happened? And she didn't even have any children herself! _How dare she…_

He whirled on the baker, his fist slamming into her stomach. She buckled as he pulled his hand back and his knuckles crashed into her jaw, sending her reeling to the floor. "How…_dare…_you…judge me?"

"It was a bloody compliment!" she howled, struggling to her feet. He lunged for her again and she tried to move, but his clutching hands found her skirt and she tripped, her hands clawing for purchase on anything she could reach. Sweeney's hand fisted in her hair, pulling her up, shaking her until she shrieked, her nails digging into his wrist as she fought him.

"Leave 'er alone!" The command, sleepy but horrified, came from the doorway; the sound of their scuffle had woken Toby. Mr. Todd stared at the boy for a moment and Mrs. Lovett took the opportunity to kick him in the shin with every ounce of her strength. He crumpled with a roared curse; his captive pulled free and kicked him again.

"Don't you dare hit Mrs. Lovett! She's never been nothin' but good to you!" Toby rushed forward, seizing one of the knives Mrs. Lovett had left on the counter. "I'll kill you!"

"Toby, no!" Nellie grabbed him by the waist and hauled him back, afraid that he would fall victim to Mr. Todd's razor. Her fears were not unfounded; one of those accursed blades gleamed in the barber's hand. "You put a scratch on me son," she hissed, "and I swear I'll kill you meself."

Todd snickered. "Then you're dead too, my _pet_."

"Ah, yes, you'll kill the person you need to…!" she barely stopped herself in time, remembering that Toby was there and couldn't know the details about Mr. Todd's…business arrangement with her. "You won't kill me. And if you try…" Still holding Toby, she moved back to the counter and fished her rolling pin out of one of the drawers.

The look on Sweeney Todd's face clearly read: _dammit. _"Fucking wench."

"Cursin' at me again, 'cause you've lost! Can't stand that you can't scare me anymore, can you? Can't stand a woman with a bloody spine? No, you only want stupid, weak-willed, flighty-headed…!"

Sweeney cut her off by flying at her with the razor. Toby shouted as Mrs. Lovett shoved him aside, out of the way, and she stepped out of the range of the blade as the rolling pin powered into Todd's shoulder with a sickening _crack_.

"You," he growled, nursing his shoulder with his other hand, his grip slackening on the razor's handle, "and that _fucking_ rollin' pin…"

"Get away from me until you're done with your little temper tantrum. I was plannin' on tryin' to comfort you about losin' your daughter and all that, but apparently you'd prefer beatin' on me."

Toby went back to Mrs. Lovett's side, putting a protective arm around her and tightening his grip on the knife he still held.

"Would you look at you two," Sweeney drawled, a cruel smile on his face. "Aren't you just adorable together. You do care _so _much for this little whore, Toby, and she'll never have me, so why don't the two of you…"

"You make an obscene comment about me and me son and I'll bake your ballocks into a pie! Now _get out_! Pitchin' a fit, childish insults…you're worse than a two-year-old, I swear," she scorned him, belittling his rage.

With a withering glare, he obeyed her.

"Good show, Mum," said Toby, but his voice shook.

Nellie's heart was fluttering at what was surely an impossible speed. Even as she had spoken to Mr. Todd with such brazen derision, she'd been trembling in her pointed boots. The now-swelling bruise on her jawbone reminded her painfully that she was not invincible.

"Mum…I…I'm sorry I didn't protect you…"

"Don't worry, love." Nellie set down the rolling pin and pried the knife from his hand before wrapping him in a comforting hug, though she was still shaking herself. "I 'ave a plan. 'e won't ever 'urt either of us again."

* * *

A/N: _dramatic music_ Oh dear, Sweeney epically failed to bring Lucy back to sanity and Mrs. Lovett has a new diabolical plot. Told you guys this would be an eventful chapter! I was going to push the rating up to M for Sweeney dropping the f-bomb twice, but the story will be M in the next chapter anyway. I'll leave you to guess why. Hint: it has something to do with Mrs. Lovett's scheme and how she asked Sweeney about the hypothetical details of Turpin's death.

Oh, one more thing: I know I may have drawn out the scene with Johanna waiting in the barbershop and pie shop a bit too much, but I wanted to show Sweeney's reaction to seeing his daughter and not being able to tell her about her family history as well as Johanna's feelings toward leaving London. I feel like in the play Johanna did care for Anthony, but really she just wanted to get away from Turpin (she was going to drink lye to avoid her wedding for crying out loud). And I wanted to combine that with the sort of haunted, quietly tormented way the character was portrayed in the movie.


	6. Madness

Blade of Madness

Chapter Six: Madness

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed. Not Sweenett…yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, eventual Sweenett (maybe)

Author's Notes: Yes, this chapter pushed the rating up to "M." The rating chance is due to violence/gore. So, yes, somebody is going to meet his or her maker in this chapter. Don't worry, it's someone we all want to see bite the dust. Oh, and...please review! My muses survive on reviews and as such my inspiration dies if I don't get reviews. I'm serious.

* * *

_It's only in case the worst 'appens_, Mrs. Lovett insisted to herself as she worried the corners of the folded piece of paper in one hand. _I likely won't need this. Well, in any case, _I _won't need it at all…_ As she proceeded down the crowded cobblestone street, she became gradually aware that people were occasionally bumping up against her; she heard them grumbling, and her own half-whispered reflexive apologies. She tucked the piece of paper containing the address of Radcliffe's Orphanage for Children into a pocket of her long overcoat so it couldn't be knocked from her fingers.

Customers were already starting to queue up outside the ale garden when she walked through the door of her own pie shop.

"Mum!" Toby cried as he looked up from a platter of pies on the counter. "Where've you been?"

"Nowhere, dear," she replied with a tremulous smile. "Just stopped by the market. And I bought you something." She reached into one of her pocket and withdrew a small box of toffees. "You've been workin' so 'ard lately, love, I thought I'd get you a little reward."

"Toffees!" Toby's face lit up. "I'd best put these somewhere safe…before I eat 'em, that is!"

"Hmm." Nellie hung up her overcoat and strode over to the counter. "Toby, 'ave you been workin' on the pies over 'ere?"

"Yes, Mum. I've seen you put a few drops of gravy on top o' the pies to keep 'em moist. Ain't that what you do?"

"Yeah…you been usin' four drops, exactly?"

He nodded, grinning.

"That's good work, love!" Nellie declared, impressed. She hadn't known Toby could be so attentive. That thought led her to utter a few silent prayers that baking was the only thing to which Toby paid such close attention. "You'll be a first-rate apprentice once I take you on." A horrible lurch of her stomach reminded her that she might never get the chance to have Toby as her apprentice. But that was the worst-case scenario, of course. She slipped an arm around the boy and hugged him briefly. "We'd best look sharp. The shop opens in a quarter hour."

* * *

Toby, bless his heart, never asked Mrs. Lovett where she disappeared off to at 5 o'clock that evening, despite the fact that the supper rush normally began just after 5, and especially considering it was a Friday. She did the same on Monday and Tuesday of the following week and returned to face the supper rush frustrated, without the information she had been seeking. Wednesday was different. She came back to the pie shop a bit later than she had on Monday or Tuesday, but the expression on her face was one of grim satisfaction.

Wednesday night she couldn't sleep.

During her recent evening absences from the pie shop, Nellie had been visiting the courthouse. Rather, she had been lurking around the entrance, waiting to see when Judge Turpin left the courthouse and if the route he took after leaving ever led him through a place where he could be caught unawares. On both Monday and Tuesday, he and Beadle Bamford walked together until they found carriages to bear them to their respective homes. But on Wednesday, Turpin's coach hadn't taken him to his house; it had taken a rather roundabout path to a street near the pleasure district, presumably to keep the general population from guessing the destination of a supposedly upstanding citizen. And the street where the coach had stopped was a filthy, narrow, deserted place—perfect for an ambush. Nellie guessed that the judge was the sort of man to follow a strict, organized schedule—back when he had been trying to woo Lucy Barker, the same type of flower arrived for her at the same time each day—which meant that he would be in that particular spot the next Wednesday. Nellie's plan was ready to be put into action.

Which, of course, terrified her. The idea had come to her as a desperate, last-ditch attempt to get Sweeney Todd to realize that trying to save his wife's sanity was a hopeless waste of time that prevented him from his revenge. Also, hopefully it would get him to notice her in a way that didn't involve him trying to cause her pain or injury. The problem was that if her plan succeeded, it would have two possible outcomes: one, Sweeney would be pleased with her, or two, he would fly into an unstoppable rage and kill her. The changes of the second outcome were very high.

Nellie Lovett did not particularly want to die. She wanted to take Toby on as her apprentice. She wanted Mr. Todd to stop killing so the bakehouse wouldn't be full of corpses; now she could buy decent meat and still turn a small profit, and would no longer have to cut up stinking cadavers. She wanted him to return Lucy to Bedlam so he would stop obsessing over her and the profit from Nellie's pie shop, even without meat from Sweeney's victims, would be enough to feed the building's occupants. She wanted him to listen to her long enough to hear her ask if he could please stop killing customers, since that was obviously not helping him get to the judge. She wanted him to care about her enough that he would actually listen when she spoke. But all the things she wanted hinged on Sweeney Todd coming to feel something for her other than (or, as she still prayed every night, the opposite of) hatred and disgust. If what she was planning couldn't get Sweeney to pay attention to her, nothing could, and she did not want to go on living with the status quo. Even if her plan resulted in her death at Sweeney's hand, she would much die rather by the razor, choking briefly one on last blood-drenched breath, than the slow, painful starvation that would eventually claim her if nothing changed. For she _was _starving; even with her newfound affluence and her cutting back on household expenditure, she couldn't afford to feed everyone living in her building. The pie shop's popularity was waning, and she knew why: the customers' faces that looked the most shocked and repulsed at the sight of her scars were the faces she didn't see again. She had started selling some of her more extravagant belongings for food money, but still, there were days she didn't eat. Dresses that had once been form-fitting now hung limply off her body. She sometimes had dizzy spells that could only be alleviated (as she and Toby had discovered) by a spoonful of sugar or something else that would quickly give her energy.

Thinking about the prospect of starving made a particularly strong hunger pang shoot through her stomach and she gasped aloud, curling into a fetal position under her covers. Her lack of food wasn't the only thing making her thin and weak, she thought grimly. Living with the nagging knowledge that the man she had loved for nearly two decades despised her was taking its toll as well, and the stress of having the mad beggar woman upstairs and her presence making Sweeney so absent-minded he went outside in bloodstained shirts wasn't helping either. Nellie pulled her knees to her chest, briefly quelling the growling noises her stomach was making. It didn't matter that she was afraid; her risk-fraught, half-mad plan was the only option left to her.

So she pushed her fears to the back of her mind, lulling herself to sleep with blissful daydreams of herself strolling down a sandy beach by the ocean arm-in-arm with Mr. Todd.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett closed her pie shop early the following Wednesday. She told the customers that it was due to a shortage of supplies and told Toby she thought the two of them deserved a day off. She hung up the "closed" sign at 4 in the afternoon, giving herself an hour to prepare for the task that awaited her. While Toby played outside in the streets (he was finally getting to have some fun like a boy his age should, bless him), Nellie gathered the supplies she needed and reviewed the details of her plan in her head.

She had intended to leave at 5 o'clock sharp, but at ten 'til the hour she couldn't stand it anymore and departed from the pie shop. She called out to Toby as she left—some prattle about running errands, to keep him from worrying—and proceeded through the grimy London streets, attracting some strange looks considering that she was wearing her overcoat inside-out. Underneath the inside-out jacket, she carried a good-sized leather sack, a freshly sharpened butchering knife, and one of Sweeney Todd's razors, which she had lifted from its case the previous night when she had brought him his supper and he had been occupied with Lucy.

Nellie arrived at her destination: the decrepit street where she had seen Judge Turpin's coach stop exactly one week before. She stood with her back to one wall, half-crouched in the shadows, clutching the handle of her knife, waiting.

She counted her heartbeats, which were growing increasingly frequent. She strained her ears to hear the sound of approaching wheels on the cobblestones. Nothing. Was he not going to be there?

Then…

A carriage rumbled into sight. Turpin himself alighted, paying the cabbie and waiting to proceed until the coach had gone.

Nellie squeezed the handle of her knife even harder. _I can't believe I'm doin' this. I can't bloody believe I'm doin' this. No! Don't be afraid. Remember the plan. Think of Mr. Todd…_

As she fixed her gaze on the lecherous judge, Nellie set her mental sights on Sweeney Todd, on the unbridled hatred and rage and…and torment she had seen on his face—emotions that would never have contorted the gentle countenance of Benjamin Barker had the judge not destroyed his life.

She was ready. She stepped out of the shadows and called out to her quarry. "I know who you are!"

Turpin turned to face her. Even in the shadows, Nellie could make out the half-bemused, half-condescending expression on his face. "And who am I?" His voice was layered with impatient sarcasm. "And who are _you, _to speak to a man of the law with such impudence?"

Mr. Todd's words echoed in Nellie's mind. _"I'll give him some sort of hint at first—make him think. Confuse him, make him wonder what's going on. Make him…scared." _"You don't know me, and me name ain't important. But I know you are Judge Turpin, and I know what you 'ave done."

He snickered derisively. "And what have I done, pray tell?" He turned away from her, as if to simply wave her off and continue walking.

"You destroyed the life of an innocent man. A _good _man!" Mr. Todd's words came back to her as if they were her own. "But 'ow could you remember? I'm sure you've sentenced many unfairly, sent many an innocent man to death or worse!"

"I don't know what you are talking about, little shrew," he said coldly, but there was fear there too, and confusion.

"Yes you do!" Nellie stepped closer. "There was a barber and 'is wife, and 'e was beautiful…a proper artist with a knife, but you transported 'im for life…and 'e was _innocent_! And now 'e's back in London. I'm 'ere on 'is behalf."

That startled the judge. He flinched, taking a step backwards. "No. He can't be back."

"You _do _know the man I'm talkin' about!" With her free hand, Mrs. Lovett withdrew the razor and raised it to the dim light. "Say 'is name! Say it for 'is friend 'ere!"

"You're mad," Turpin snarled, but his eyes widened significantly when Mrs. Lovett pressed forward and held the blade against his cheek, drawing blood. "You can't possibly have gotten that from…from Benjamin Barker."

"Yes," she whispered, and an image of Benjamin—soft-hearted, handsome Benjamin, who didn't even know his neighbor Nellie that well, but still treated her more kindly that Sweeney Todd ever had—forced itself into her mind. But that man was gone now, dead…_murdered…_

The pie baker's voice rose to a scream. "_Benjamin Barker!_"

The knife, still in her dominant hand, plunged into Judge Turpin's side. She yanked it out with a sickening noise of suction and tearing of flesh. Blood, rich and hot and seething, hissed from the wound. She stabbed again, striking a rib. The knife stuck against the stubborn bone and she shoved with all her strength, driving the gasping judge against a wall, and she snarled with satisfaction when the rip snapped beneath the pressure. Hot anger and a fierce, sick pleasure bubbled within her as she twisted the blade, delicious tissue-ripping sounds and a choked cry from her prey rewarding her. The knife was jerked out sluggishly, tiny sprays of blood issuing from the wound and striking her face as she wrestled steel from flesh. She tore a gash in his waistcoat, shirt, and stomach with the tip of the knife and then began to saw with the blade, watching eagerly as it pressed deeper, blood oozing over the shining metal and the black leather of her glove, more and more of the blade becoming buried in ruined flesh. The knife came away with a triumphant sound almost like a pop as the damaged tissue relinquished its grip on its destroyer.

Stunned, agonized, the judge dropped to his knees.

"Beggin' for mercy, eh?" the baker hissed. "Won't get any from me." She let the knife, sheathed in a thin layer of red and studded with little gobs of meat, drop to the ground. The razor had not left her other hand, and now she took it with the hand that had just held the knife. "Pity Mr. Todd couldn't be 'ere, but 'is friend can tell 'im what it felt like…" She drove the tip of the razor into the judge's throat, the dull edge reluctantly piercing the soft tissue. But then, when she pulled, carving through her victim's neck, she marveled at the sharpness of Sweeney's silver companion as the blade sliced smoothly through what needed to be severed. Muscle buckled around the razor like burning paper curling into nothingness. A cathartic fountain of glistening blood showered her in its satisfying heat.

She sighed, tilting her face to the sky, flecks of blood turning black against her white skin in the moonlight. She had done what Sweeney Todd himself had not been able to do. Surely, surely he would want her now! But even as that thought flitted across her mind, a different voice in the back of her head screamed _How could you have done this, even for Mr. Todd? You're not a murderer, a torturer!_ Scornfully, the baker pushed the weak, horrified Nellie-thoughts away.

She carefully set the razor down and took out the bag. She lifted the knife and began to carefully cut through Judge Turpin's spine, just below the gaping wound that looked like a foolish, insanely wide grin cut into his neck. She knew by know how to cut through the spaces between vertebrae, and soon she had the corpse's head off. She stuffed it into the bag; she had to have proof for Mr. Todd, didn't she?

She debated briefly what to do with the rest of the body. It would be easy but time-consuming to dismember it and hide the pieces. She decided to leave the corpse whole; a headless cadaver wouldn't be so quickly identified as Judge Turpin anyway, and when it _was_ identified, many Londoners would rejoice at the knowledge that the lecherous, unjust, unmerciful slime was dead.

The baker tore strips from the Judge's shirt and wrapped the knife and razor with them; Sweeney would like to see the blood, she was sure. She removed her overcoat, turning it right side out so no one would see that it was spattered with blood, and tucked her tools and her evidence away under it.

She did not remember walking home. She found herself faintly surprised when she was greeted with the sight of the pie shop, the place where she sheltered Sweeney Todd and concealed the evidence of his rage despite the mess of blood, humors, tissue, and bone that she dealt with each day and could never fully clean or make disappear, and the stench of death and rot and burning flesh that clung to her like a disease. She walked up to the door and pushed it open with her foot.

"Mum!" cried a familiar voice. "Where've you been? Is that blood on your face? Did somebody 'urt you? It wasn't Mr. Todd, was it?"

She stared at the boy for a few moments before fully recognizing him. Her son. Did she have a son? Yes, of course, he wasn't related to her by blood but he was still her child. Toby.

"Mum, are you all right?"

The baker's fingers clenched around the neck of the bag she carried beneath her coat. She was shaking. When had she started shaking? No, she was not all right.

"Mum?" Toby put down the rag he had ostensibly been using to wipe down tables and took a few steps toward her.

She fished into one of her pockets to withdraw a folded piece of paper. She held it out to her son, who stared in alarm at the way her hand was trembling so hard she could barely keep her grip on the paper. "Toby, I've done somethin' what will either make Mr. Todd very angry or very glad." If she hadn't rehearsed what she was going to say so many times, she wouldn't have been able to speak. Her mind barely knew what her lips were saying. "Take this." The boy did, looking intently at her face, trying to hold her gaze. Her eyes kept flickering and shifting. "If I don't come downstairs, I want you to pack your things _quickly_ and get to this address. It's not a bad place. You'll be taken care of. You'll be safe."

"If you don't come downstairs," Toby repeated, fisting his hand around the paper. "You mean…you mean, if Mr. Todd…"

"…kills me," she finished.

"Then I'm comin' upstairs with you."

She shook her head.

"I ain't gon'na let 'im kill you!" Toby cried. "I've got to protect you! I promised!"

"If you come upstairs and 'e decides to kill me, 'e'll kill you too."

"No! I won't let 'im even put a scratch on you!"

The woman seized her son by the arms with such force that his eyes widened. "Toby, if Mr. Todd really wants to kill either of us, there won't be a damn thing you can do to stop 'im!" He gaped at her wordlessly. "Stay downstairs, and if I don't come back down, get yourself out." Her grip softened and then was gone, and she lifted her hands to cup his face. "Like I said, dear, I've done somethin' what will make Mr. Todd either very glad or very upset, so there's a chance 'e won't 'urt me anyway."

"Don't go up there," Toby whispered.

"I 'ave to, love."

"No. You don't 'ave to!" He threw his arms around her. "Please, Mum, don't risk it!"

She gave her son a reassuring squeeze and a kiss before extricating herself from his embrace. "There's a good chance everythin' will turn out just fine. Don't worry about me."

He began to cry as he watched her proceed to the staircase, following behind her. He called out as she began to climb the stairs. "I love you!"

She paused and gave him a sad, gentle smile. "And I love you, son."

The baker peered into the barbershop to make sure there were no customers present. There had apparently been one recently, since Sweeney was cleaning blood from one of his razors, but had already had time to change into a shirt that wasn't stained. Perfect.

Sweeney Todd was abruptly jerked out of his reverie when he heard the cheerful chime of the bell over the tonsorial parlor's door. He had, coincidentally, been musing on the uses of his various tools. His precious razors, his friends, were his most useful, of course; perfectly obedient, merging with his arm to do his bidding. The chair was a fond companion as well, a patient altar upon which victims offered their necks as sacrifice to the barber's insatiable rage. And then there was Mrs. Lovett. Always a thorn in his side, occasionally a splinter under his toenail or a piece of filth under his eyelid, but in the end she was useful; she was his baker. Her skills with a rolling pin (despite the fact that he hated that bloody thing) were all that kept her alive.

But he wasn't expecting to see the baker when the door chimed, and he certainly wasn't expecting to see her wild-eyed and breathing heavily with dried blood spattering her face.

"I 'ave somethin' for you," she said. Without the joviality that normally underscored every word she spoke, her voice was barely recognizable.

"What is it?" He spoke irritably, but he couldn't help but be disconcerted at her disheveled (and blood-spattered) appearance, and that _look _in her eyes…when she reached inside her overcoat, he almost started, worried that she was reaching for her rolling pin. But instead, she held up a leather sack. It bulged, indicating that something had been stuffed into it.

She let her arm hang by her side, overturning the sack. A human head rolled out. Sweeney actually recoiled, thinking at first that it was the head of one of his customers, intended to frighten him. Then he took a closer look. He would have recognized that face anywhere.

Judge Turpin.

Mrs. Lovett had expected one of two reactions from Sweeney Todd when he discovered what she'd done: gladness or fury. But there was a third option that she hadn't considered.

Complete and utter disbelief.

"Mrs. Lovett…did you…?"

"You wouldn't get off your arse and kill 'im yourself, so I did," she snapped. "_Now _do you bloody notice me?"

Mr. Todd could not think of a damn thing to say. He simply gaped at her, openmouthed. She held his gaze, her eyes swirling with a strange darkness Sweeney had never seen there before—not that he had ever cared to look at Mrs. Lovett's eyes. But for the first time, Sweeney found himself out-stared. He looked away from his baker to the head on the floor. The Judge's eyes were still open and there was an enormous gash just above the place where the head had been severed from the neck.

Mrs. Lovett, deprived of a pair of Sweeney Todd eyes to stare into, found herself looking at Judge Turpin's head. While she had executed her plan, she had been just as cold and angry as Sweeney himself, or as mindless as one of his tools. But her unbreakable loyalty to Mr. Todd was no longer in complete control of her, and she felt the memories of her attack on Judge Turpin returning in floods with new emotions attached: fear, disgust, panic, horror. Nellie Lovett was many things, but even in her hard heart that had but a small soft spot for Sweeney Todd and Toby, she was not a murderer.

Except she had just become one.

Nellie sank to her knees, a hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, God…what've I done?"

Sweeney sprang into action, kneeling before her, taking her by the shoulders. He shook her. "Yes, Mrs. Lovett, what have you done?"

Mrs. Lovett realized she wasn't out of the woods yet. "I…I did it just like you said you would."

He shook her again. "Tell me more! What did you do?" His eyes were so hungry, but angry at the same time.

She swallowed her fear, or tried to. "I…well, you said you wanted to scare 'im a bit by givin' 'im clues about who you were, so I did that. I got 'im nervous, I did." She remembered the look of confusion and apprehension on the Judge's face with a small surge of triumph.

"What else?"

"I told 'im that 'e'd transported an innocent man. He tried to walk away, but I told 'im I was there on your behalf and I showed 'im one of your…friends. Then 'e got it. I got 'im to remember your name. Then…" She pressed her hands to her face, but she could feel the half-congealed stickiness of the blood on her skin and her palms came away reddened.

Sweeney's hands tightened on her arms until she cried out. "Spit it out, woman!"

She gasped with the pain. "I don't…well…I'll try." It turned out she didn't have to try. Memories of the Judge's murder came rushing back into her mind, again. "I stabbed 'im. With one of me kitchen knives. Over…and over…" She could feel the knife in her hand, the way flesh curled beneath the pressure of the blade… "Oh, God…"

"You said you had one of the razors," Mr. Todd snarled.

"Yes! It was your razor that done 'im in. I cut 'is throat before the knife wounds killed 'im." She shuddered as she remembered the hot gush of blood from the Judge's throat. How could she have imagined it felt good when the flecks collided with her face, leaving evidence on her skin? Nellie pulled the razor out and unwrapped it so Sweeney could see the blood on the cloth. "See? It was bloody."

Sweeney took the razor from her with the same reverence that she had always seen him use when handling the blades. He held it to the light, admiring the handsome smears of red against the shining metal. "Tell me, friend," he whispered, "what was it like?"

Nellie wanted to scream, or burst into tears. Nothing had changed. She was the one who had killed Turpin (had she really committed murder? She still couldn't believe it) and he was still talking to that razor. That fucking razor. Was he really expecting it to answer? Was he really expecting it to tell him how the crime had been committed for his sake, despite the fear and reluctance of its temporary holder? Only she could tell him that, but he still didn't see that.

"You think the bloomin' razor is goin' to answer you? _I _was the one carryin' it! _I _was the one that killed the Judge for you!" Her voice was rising to a nearly hysterical pitch that she couldn't control. She hoped Sweeney could still understand her words.

He regarded her coolly. "Well, I suppose you did." He gently laid down the razor. Then he reached for Turpin's head, lifting it up by the hair. "So, honorable sir, I see you have met my little pet."

Mrs. Lovett assumed he was referring to her.

"Perhaps you did take my family from me, and kept me from takin' my revenge at first. But as you can see, I got to you anyway." He glanced almost fondly at Nellie. "I trained her well, didn't I?"

Nellie looked at the floor. She heard a light thump that was likely Sweeney dropping Turpin's head to the floor (the sound made her stomach heave). Then she felt him pat her cheek roughly, as if she were an obedient dog instead of a human being. "It seems you're good for somethin' other than bakin' pies after all."

There was moisture on Nellie's face that wasn't blood. She watched her crimson-laced tears drop to the floorboards. _At least 'e's 'appy with me…_

Lucy came in, babbling to herself.

She saw Judge Turpin's head on the floor and screamed.

Nellie looked up, but closed her eyes almost immediately. The beggar woman was _not _something she needed to see right now.

Footsteps came rushing up the stairs. Toby burst into the tonsorial parlor. "Mum!" Mrs. Lovett twisted around halfway, but Toby was already beside her with her arms flung around her. "You're all right!"

"Toby." She wrapped her arms around him and they stood up together. She suddenly realized he was tall enough that she could put her head on his shoulder.

"Are you all right, Mum?"

"Ask me in a few 'ours, all right, love?" she said shakily. "Not quite sure now."

He held her tightly. "I was so worried." He sounded as if he were about to cry.

"I'm alive," was the only thing she could think of.

Then Toby noticed the head on the floor. He jerked back. "Mum…is that…?"

"Yes, love, it's Judge Turpin's head."

Toby stared at her in horror. "Mum…did you…?"

"Toby, sweet, I can explain."

Sweeney was trying to calm Lucy down. In the process, he had guided her over to the window. She was mostly calm now, and Mr. Todd was apparently very distracted by something outside.

"Mr. Todd? What is it?"

Nellie went over to the window. Anything to distract her from the memory of the hot blood spatter hitting her face.

A horse-drawn carriage had pulled up in front of the building at 186 Fleet Street. The sight of this particular carriage made Mrs. Lovett clutch at Sweeney's arm. It was long, twice the size of a normal carriage, and painted black. The words _Fogg's Asylum for the Mentally Deranged_ were painted in white across the side.

"They must be here for Lucy," Sweeney whispered. "That…that bloody doctor must have gone to Mr. Fogg, and…"

"Lucy?" Nellie burst out. "I walk back from a dark alley with a severed 'ead under me jacket and blood coverin' me face, likely with a look in me eyes like I was a…a rabid dog or some such, in full view of a couple dozen Londoners and you think the fuckin' Bedlam wagon picks _today _to come after Lucy? They're 'ere for me!"

Sweeney regarded her for a moment with an inscrutable look on his face.

Nellie stumbled back from the window. She had just remembered what happened to a tool when it had served its purpose. It was thrown out. "Oh, God," she whimpered. "You're gon'na give me to them, ain't you?"

Lucy, sensing that something was terribly wrong, began to whine.

Mr. Todd spoke. "They won't get either of you. Now we just have to get you out of sight…" In the street below, Mr. Fogg had alighted from the carriage and was already at the door of the pie shop. "…but he'll see you if you go through the downstairs."

Nellie tugged on his sleeve. "The chute! The chute leads direct from under your barber chair to the bakehouse. And in case they search the bakehouse, we can 'ide in the sewer."

"Mrs. Lovett, that's brilliant."

It took Nellie a moment to realize he wasn't being sarcastic. But before he could tip back the barber chair, she ran to Toby's side and whispered to him, "Dear, I need you to go talk to the man from the asylum. Just…just tell 'im I'm not mad, eh?"

Toby's still-horrified eyes flickered to the head still lying on the floor and then back to Mrs. Lovett.

She kissed him. "I promise, love, I'll explain everythin.'"

He looked at her steadily and nodded. "All right, Mum."

"That's my good boy." She hugged him firmly. He hesitated a bit before leaving, but he scampered down the stairs.

In the meantime, Sweeney had pulled the lever beside the barber chair and was trying to convince Lucy that no, it was not a portal to Hell. Nellie grabbed Turpin's head from the floor (she couldn't exactly leave it lying around) and twisted her skirts around her legs so she could easily fit through the chute. She sat with her legs dangling into the black space for a moment before pushing herself down, guiding her passage by pressing her hands tightly enough against the walls that she didn't fall. She pushed all the harder because of the feeling that the walls were closing in on her and the stale black air was stealing into her lungs and poisoning them.

Then her legs hit open air and she dropped onto the bakehouse floor, where a single corpse lay—presumably the man Sweeney had just killed. She made a noise halfway between an exasperated moan and a frightened whimper; it would be a waste of meat to destroy the body, but there was no place to hide it should Mr. Fogg come looking for her. So she dragged it (thank God the man had been slight!) to the oven and pushed it in, then spent the next few moments covering up the other human remains in the bakehouse as best she could.

She was pulling the sewer grate from its place in the floor when the beggar woman tumbled onto the floor, squalling like an upset child.

"You'll 'ave to follow me," said Nellie grimly to the beggar woman.

"No! No, I won't! Witch! _Witch_!"

"Yeah, well, you know somethin,' dear? You seem to be around witches all the bloody time, and as such, there's a man comin' that thinks _you're _a witch. And if you don't want 'im to catch you, you'd better come 'ide with me."

"I ain't a witch! I ain't!" Lucy wailed.

"Then get down 'ere." Nellie twisted her skirts around her legs again and wriggled through the opening.

She was used to horrible stenches by now, and the reek of the sewer was nothing compared to the odor of burning flesh. It wasn't so disgusting, really; there were gutters running beside walkways of sorts where the cobblestones were raised to a higher level, so at least she wasn't standing in sewage. She waited just underneath the opening for Lucy, who swung her legs over the edge, faltering.

"Get down 'ere!" Mrs. Lovett hissed. "You want the…witch 'unters to catch you?"

Lucy plunged into the sewer just as inelegantly as she had done when dropping into the bakehouse, but Nellie was surprised that the beggar woman had been convinced to follow her at all. Speaking of which, she huddled against a wall, muttering to herself. Nellie felt rather like doing something similar. She wondered if it were truly madness or simply a certain lack of self-control that caused supposedly mad behavior.

Nellie sat with her back against a wall. She could feel the leather sack pressing against her side and she ripped it out from inside her jacket and pushed it away from her. Only a fleeting thought from what was left of her practical mind kept her from shoving it into the sewage; Sweeney would probably want to see it again. She pulled her knees to her chest. The pain of hunger burned in her stomach felt like she had swallowed the knife she had used to kill Turpin. _Except he deserved that pain_, she thought dimly, her head lolling to one side. _Do I deserve it, too? Mr. Todd would say I do. He's 'appy with me now, but I wonder how long that will last._

There was quiet overhead. If Mr. Fogg were conducting a search of the pie shop, he was not looking in the bakehouse.

_Are you there, Mr. Todd? _Nellie thought, closing her eyes. _I know you'll get Lucy out of 'ere, but will you remember to 'elp me up, too?_

_

* * *

  
_

Sweeney got to the front door just as Toby was telling Mr. Fogg that no, Mrs. Lovett could not come to the door at that moment.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the barber smoothly. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, sir, Mr.…"

"Todd. Sweeney Todd. The tonsorial parlor above this establishment is mine."

"Ah. I understand the owner of this particular establishment is not here?"

"I'm afraid she is out at the moment. At the market, or running some sort of errand. If you don't mind me inquirin', Mr. Fogg, what might your asylum want with my landlady?"

"Well, you see…" Fogg paused to clear his throat. He was a small, wiry man whose appearance called to mind a weasel or ferret. His voice had a quality to it that suggested he poured oil and grease down his throat every morning. Toby in particular found him intensely dislikeable, and Mr. Todd…well, Mr. Todd already found everyone dislikeable. "We at the asylum 'ave 'ad several reports today that Mrs. Lovett may be a danger to both 'erself and the community."

"A danger?" said Sweeney with convincing surprise while Toby shouted "That ain't true!"

"Yes." Fogg shot Toby a rather irritated look. "The reports claim that she 'as many scars on 'er face, and a few of the reporters wondered if she didn't put them there 'erself."

"I'm afraid those people are mistaken, Mr. Fogg," Mr. Todd began, but Toby cut him off.

"The pie shop was robbed. It was the robbers what cut 'er. She'd never do a thing like that to 'erself! You ought'a feel sorry for 'er, 'stead of believin' stories."

Todd gave Toby a glare that clearly said, _Be quiet. You are not helping._

"The real reason I came 'ere today," said Fogg, the oilier quality of his voice gone now, "is that Mrs. Lovett was reported to be walkin' in this direction, and she 'ad blood on 'er face and looked quite…unbalanced."

This time, Mr. Todd spoke quickly before Toby could get a word in. "Mr. Fogg, I am afraid Mrs. Lovett has fallen victim to malicious intent. I don't know if you've heard, but her pie shop has become quite popular recently. There are many who've lost business as a result of her success. I imagine that quite a few of those individuals are angry enough to take advantage of her unfortunate scars in addition to…fabricatin' stories that reflect poorly on her. I, sir, will tell you that Mrs. Lovett is a pillar of our community, not to mention she's skilled at her trade."

"She took me in when I 'ad no one," Toby piped up. "She's a real kind lady."

"I see." Fogg bit his lower lip, obviously annoyed at being sent on a wild goose chase. "Well, sir, if I receive new reports about your neighbor, you may see me again."

Sweeney nodded graciously. "I hope we didn't take too much of your time, Mr. Fogg."

Fogg left. Toby and Mr. Todd waited until the wagon was out of sight to head to the bakehouse and retrieve Mrs. Lovett and Lucy.

"Mr. Todd," Toby called out at they descended the stairs to the bakehouse.

"What?" Sweeney snarled, his suave façade having vanished with the person he had needed to finesse.

"Thank you. For defendin' Mrs. Lovett like that."

"No thanks to you, boy. And I couldn't have him comin' after Mrs. Lovett, because he'd take my Lucy as well."

"Mrs. Lovett's right good to you. You ought'a be more grateful."

Todd said nothing, and Toby found himself thinking of the severed head Mrs. Lovett had brought back to the pie shop. _There's got'ta be a reason for what Mum did. She ain't mad…is she?_

* * *

_  
_

Nellie heard the scraping of the sewer grate and scrambled out of sight. Her heart leapt into her throat; had she been wrong about the asylum worker not searching the bakehouse? She saw no reason for him to…unless Mr. Todd had betrayed her…

"Mum!" It was Toby's voice. "We sent 'im away. You can come up 'ere now."

"Thank God above," Mrs. Lovett whispered, moving to stand underneath the opening.

"Get Lucy up here first." That was Mr. Todd.

The beggar woman was still curled against the wall, mumbling to herself. _And Mr. Todd says _I _talk too much, _Nellie thought bitterly. "Lucy, get up."

Lucy ignored her. Nellie pinched her arm, making her squeal in protest. "The witch 'unters is gone. Your 'usband wants you back now. I think 'e's ready to 'elp you up."

Sweeney called down to her. "Lucy, it's all right. Come here."

Only then did Lucy move, shuffling hesitantly towards the grate. She was completely unhelpful when it came to the task of lifting her out of the sewer; luckily Sweeney was strong enough to pull her up. Nellie found herself under the grate, wondering if she could jump high enough to get a strong hold on the bakehouse floor.

"Mrs. Lovett, you still have Turpin's head, don't you?"

"_You _take it!" She seized the leather sack from the ground and pushed it into Mr. Todd's hand, which he had lowered through the opening. He moved back until she couldn't see him; apparently he had no intention of helping her up.

Well, fine.

Nellie leapt and managed to get her arms up through the circular hole, bending her elbows to keep herself hanging, anchored there. She struggled to pull herself up the rest of the way; it was surprisingly easy, likely because her arms and shoulders were strong from her work and she was very thin from her recent lack of sustenance.

She managed to get her entire upper body through the opening when she felt her strength failing. Toby saw her falter and gripped her arms tightly. "It's all right, Mum, I've got you." He pulled her up the rest of the way.

Mr. Todd was smiling, actually _smiling _at her. "There's my little warrior. You know, pet, I never thought you had it in you."

"Neither did I," she quavered and flung her arms around him.

She was half-expecting him to push her away, but instead he just laughed. The sound was mostly mirthless, but it was better than him growling at her.

Mr. Todd could feel Mrs. Lovett shaking. Well, he had never suspected that she could be a killer; she stood by carelessly while he murdered his customers, but she wasn't the type to do the same. But she had forced herself to kill Judge Turpin—he could only assume she had done that for his sake—and she was suffering because of it.

He draped his arm stiffly over her, and instantly she stopped trembling. It startled him that he could have such an effect on her and, alarmed, he pushed her off of him. "That's enough."

Toby was right beside her when she regained her balance. "You all right?" He held his arms out to Mrs. Lovett and she let him hold her.

"I don't know, dear."

"Mum?"

Nellie watched Mr. Todd gently shepherd Lucy upstairs. "Hmm?"

"Why'd you kill that man?"

She sighed. "You remember what I told you about what 'appened to Mr. Todd, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I told you the man what ruined 'is life was a judge. 'is name was Turpin. Mr. Todd's been wantin' to get back at 'im for what 'e did, but e's been so busy with tryin' to 'elp 'is wife that 'e hadn't done a thing to get 'is revenge. Since 'e wasn't goin' to do anythin'…I did."

"Did…did you want 'im dead too?"

"I wouldn't 'ave minded seein' Mr. Todd kill 'im, 'cause 'e bloody deserved it. But I never thought I'd 'ave to do it meself." Nellie buried her face in her son's shoulder, as if that could block out the memories of the murder she had committed. "There was so much blood…"

"It'll be all right, Mum. Mr. Todd's 'appy with you…I think."

"It's 'ard to tell with 'im, ain't it? I 'ope 'e's glad for what I did. Maybe now 'e'll listen to me when I tell 'im that 'e should take 'is crazy wife to Bedlam."

Gently, Toby let her go. "I 'ope 'e listens." He cast a nervous glance around the bakehouse. "Mum, can we go upstairs? I don't like it down 'ere."

"Does that mean you don't want to be me apprentice?" she teased, glad of a topic that didn't involve her latest crime.

"'Course it don't mean that! I'll just…'ave to get used to it, that's all."

They went upstairs. Nellie poured Toby and herself glasses of gin, figuring that they both needed it. He flinched when she handed it to him.

"What's the matter, love?"

"Mum, you've…you've got blood on your face."

"Oh…" She wiped ineffectually at her smeared face. "Of course you're right. I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail, all right?"

She climbed the stairs to the barbershop. Lucy wasn't there; presumably Mr. Todd was keeping her in his back room. Mr. Todd looked to be examining Turpin's severed head again. Nellie swallowed hard to keep herself from vomiting. He looked up when he heard the bell ring.

"Mrs. Lovett."

"Mr. T., can I…can I use your lavabo? I need to, you know, get the blood off me face."

He shrugged. "Go ahead."

"Thanks, love."

Nellie washed her face, trying to avoid looking at either the mirror or the way the water flushed a dark pink against the white porcelain. She gave a little hiss of pain.

"What?" Mr. Todd sounded more irritated than concerned, but she answered anyway.

"Just me scars. Sometimes they sting when they get wet." Nellie dried her face with a towel, but when she turned to leave, she forgot to look away from Mr. Todd. He was still holding Turpin's head by the hair. The eyes, still open, stared emptily at Mrs. Lovett. "Oh, God…" She half-crouched, supporting herself with a hand against the wall, as her stomach rebelled violently against her. She heaved a few times, but there was nothing in her stomach for her body to reject, so she regained control quickly.

Nellie felt Sweeney's hand resting on her back. The single touch warmed her whole body. "You didn't really have murder in you, did you, pet?"

"I suppose not." She laughed bitterly. "I tried, for your sake, but it sure as 'ell ain't easy for me to deal with."

"For my sake."

"Yeah." She straightened, and his hand fell away. "It's late. I'll get started on makin' some supper."

Sweeney watched her go.

* * *

Nellie brought Sweeney his and Lucy's supper as usual later that evening. Her hands were shaking as she laid the tray of food in his lap. He recognized the look in her eyes from his days in Australia; many an inmate had had that haunted, shaken, barely-under-control stare after first witnessing the many horrors that prison had to offer. He saw the way she wrapped her arms around herself as she headed out the door, as if she were trying to keep herself from flying into pieces.

He was, however, a bit startled when he heard a muffled _thump _as Mrs. Lovett was proceeding down the stairs. More curious than anything else, he came to the door and saw her slumped against the wall about halfway down the staircase. She moved, seemingly fighting to stand, indicating that she hadn't fainted.

Sweeney came outside. "What's the bleedin' matter with you now?"

She had managed to pull herself into a sitting position. "Toby!" she called out, a bit weakly. The boy poked his head out of the pie shop door.

"Do you need the sugar, Mum?"

"Yes—and fast, this is a bad 'un."

Now Mr. Todd was completely mystified. "Sugar? What do you need sugar for?"

Toby came rushing up the stairs with a bowl of sugar and a spoon. He knelt beside Mrs. Lovett and dipped the spoon into the white crystal powder.

"Not so much, sweet, it's expensive," Nellie cautioned him. Toby supported her back with a hand and helped her guide the spoonful of sugar into her mouth. She swallowed, slowly.

"You all right now?"

"Give it a moment and I'll be fine. Thanks, dear." Toby hugged her briefly and helped her to her feet, waiting for her to feel steady enough to walk before they both proceeded down the stairs.

"Mrs. Lovett!" Sweeney called after her, and she paused to look up at him. "What in the hell was that?"

"Just a dizzy spell, dear. I've been gettin' them lately, you know, when I don't eat enough." With that, she turned to follow her son downstairs. Still moderately bewildered, the barber went back inside.

Hours later, when night had fallen and Lucy had succumbed to a fitful sleep, Mr. Todd was not surprised to hear a strangled scream from downstairs; doubtless Mrs. Lovett was having nightmares. He went to his neighbor's room, certain she would be glad to have his company—and he couldn't sleep anyway. She was sitting up in her bed, white and wild-eyed.

"Mr. T.…did I wake you? I'm sorry…" Even from a distance, he could see how hard she was shivering. "I was…dreamin'."

"A nightmare, then."

"I'm sorry I woke you…are you angry? You ain't 'oldin' one of your friends, are you?" She pulled the covers up to her neck, as if that could protect her.

"No." He walked to her bedside.

She grabbed his hands suddenly when he was close enough. "What've I done? I ain't a killer! But…but I…"

"Hush," he said gruffly. "You did what needed to be done. You did…" Ah, he loathed admitting it, but it was true… "…what I couldn't do."

"There was so much blood…everywhere…I didn't know…"

"I said, hush!" He gripped her hands tightly. "You killed Judge Turpin. I'm proud of you. It's over and you can't change it. So calm yourself."

She blinked. "You're…proud of me?"

Had he really said that? He couldn't think of a way to reply.

"Stay with me."

His eyes turned automatically to the upper story. Lucy was alone up there. He should be with her.

"Please!" She reached up and cupped her palm around his jaw and cheek. "Just…pull up a chair or somethin,' or I can give you a blanket so you can sleep on the floor, but please don't leave! I don't wan'na be alone!"

Her voice had risen to an unnaturally high pitch. Mr. Todd hesitated; Lucy was asleep and hopefully wouldn't need him, but still…well, in the end, it was Mrs. Lovett who offered him shelter and food, in addition to hiding his murders. He needed to keep her grounded, or else he might end up without his tonsorial parlor if she went off the deep end and was hauled off to Bedlam.

So he dragged a chair to her bedside and sat there, with her still clutching one of his hands.

"Thanks, love," she whispered. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Just go to sleep."

He stayed with her the rest of the night.

* * *

A/N: That was a long chapter, wasn't it? At least in comparison to the others…yeah…so I'm not completely sure if the violence in this chapter was worth the M rating, but there have been a few incidences of quite foul language in this story as well. So even if the violence doesn't warrant the M rating, I'll still say "Reader Advisory: I say fuck a lot."


	7. Daydreams and Nightmares

Blade of Madness

Chapter Seven: Daydreams and Nightmares

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed. Not Sweenett…yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, eventual Sweenett (maybe)

Author's Notes: This is kind of a filler chapter, I know, but I'm posting it at the same time as Chapter 8, which has more action in it. Chapters 7 and 8 were originally intended to be part of the same chapter, but it got way too long.

* * *

When Mrs. Lovett woke the next morning, the first thing she realized was that she hadn't dreamed of Mr. Todd. She used to dream of him often, usually visions of the two of them (and Toby, of course) enjoying a bucolic existence somewhere near the coast. She still had those dreams occasionally, but recently most of them had been replaced by vague, unsettling nightmares that always involved the sharp flash of a polished blade, the metallic, sickening taste of blood, and Sweeney's eyes glaring at her with unbridled fury. Before the day Sweeney had cut her face, there had been other dreams, dreams that made her clamp her legs together when she woke to quell the unsatisfied ache that rose within her. Those were gone now, likely because she knew Sweeney would kill her if he knew she was dreaming about him that way—and not just kill her, but savage the more intimate parts of her body with a razor and let her bleed to death, or something of the like.

_Where do I get these 'orrid ideas? _Nellie thought, shivering. _Maybe 'is…violence…is rubbin' off on me._ Then she thought of exactly what she had done yesterday and stifled a slightly hysterical laugh. _Yes, I've picked up somethin' angry and bloody from 'im, that's for sure._ She rolled over and was slightly surprised to see Sweeney still sitting at her bedside, asleep, his head tilted back to rest against the wall. _Hm. I wasn't expectin' 'im to stay the whole night. I wonder 'ow 'e could sleep sittin' up like that…_

Nellie got up and, being as quiet as she possibly could so she wouldn't wake Mr. Todd, pulled a dress and underclothes from her wardrobe. She discovered that if she opened one of the wardrobe doors and stood behind it, she was shielded from Mr. Todd's view, so she cowered behind the door as she dressed so Sweeney would be spared the sight of her body if he woke up.

He was still sleeping when she had clothed herself, so she crept out of her room and made her way to the kitchen. She caught sight of Toby, also asleep, on the loveseat. If only there were another room for him to stay in; soon he would be too tall to sleep there comfortably.

_I'm the only one awake_, she thought with a little smile, but that smile vanished as soon as she remembered Lucy upstairs. _Well, I don't 'ear any screamin' or wailin', so she might still be asleep_. Shaking her head, she set about mixing up some batter for flapjacks. Toby liked them best when she mixed in plenty of sugar and cinnamon (and a pinch of nutmeg, that was her personal touch to an old recipe), and Sweeney seemed to eat more than his usual few bites when she spiced up the simple pancakes as well. So that settled it; it would be cinnamon-and-spice flapjacks for breakfast.

Toby woke up as she was pouring the batter for the first flapjack into the heated pan. "Mornin', Mum," he said through a yawn. He rubbed his bleary eyes, which focused on the hissing pan on the stovetop. "We 'avin' flapjacks?"

Nellie gave him a smile. "That's right, dear."

"Are you makin' 'em with the cinnamon?"

She nodded.

"Cor! Cinnamon-and-spice flapjacks!" Toby's face broke into a sleepy smile, which then shrank as he queried, "You didn't use too much sugar, did you, Mum? You know you need it."

"Don't worry your sweet little 'ead about that, son," Nellie scolded him. "Sit you down. They'll be ready in a moment."

She carefully rationed the batter to make ten identical flapjacks—three for Sweeney, three for the beggar woman, and four for Toby, who was eating tremendous amounts to feed his growth spurt. Despite her precision, a few drops of batter landed on the pan far from the mass of any pancake; these she quickly scraped up with a fork. Mr. Todd wandered rather sleepily into the kitchen as she was scooping the last flapjack from the pan onto a plate. Mrs. Lovett greeted him with, "Mornin', dear."

He made one of his noncommittal sounds.

"Thank you for stayin' last night," she hazarded. "I didn't 'ave any nightmares."

He didn't say anything, only trudged past her on his way to the stairs. She caught his sleeve. "Would you like to take breakfast with us this mornin'? I just finished makin' the flapjacks."

Mr. Todd regarded her hazily for a moment, as if he hadn't comprehended anything she had said. "What about Lucy?" he replied eventually.

"Well, eatin' alone won't kill 'er, will it?" Nellie quickly slipped three flapjacks and a fork onto a plate. "Take this up to 'er and get yourself changed, then come down 'ere and eat with me and Toby. And be quick before the food gets cold." A hunger pang jabbed her in the stomach as she handed the plate to Mr. Todd; Lucy would likely eat only two of the pancakes, and then the last one would go to waste. But Sweeney wouldn't let her give Lucy less food that she gave him, or eat anything that had been intended for Lucy.

Sweeney took the plate wordlessly and headed upstairs. The teakettle whistled and Nellie poured the tea for herself and Toby before sitting down and handing the boy his plate. She told her son to go ahead and eat, since Mr. Todd would likely not join them and there would be no point in waiting for him.

"You sure you don't want one of me flapjacks, Mum?"

"Come on now, you know you could finish off six of 'em. You're a growin' boy and you need them flapjacks more than I do." Nellie was holding the bits of batter that had not gotten into any of the pancakes cupped in her hand.

They both looked up in surprise when they heard Mr. Todd's footsteps proceeding down the stairs.

"Well, Mr. T.!" Nellie grinned at him. "Wasn't quite expectin' you to come back."

"Sittin' near you won't kill me, if last night was any indication." Sweeney took his plate from the counter and slid it onto the table before sitting down beside Nellie.

"It's nice to see you 'ere," she said, risking giving his hand a little squeeze. He looked over at her, noticing that she had no plate in front of her.

"You already ate?"

Toby spoke up. "Mum don't exactly eat no more."

"I can't afford to feed four people." Nellie placed one of the tiny circles of batter on her tongue and swallowed carefully.

"You're eatin' _those_?" Sweeney said incredulously.

"Eatin' just a tiny bit makes me feel like I at least got somethin' in me stomach, even if I don't, really."

Mr. Todd got up.

"Where are you goin', love?"

He retrieved another plate from the counter and returned to the table with it, placing it in front of Mrs. Lovett. Then he stabbed one of his flapjacks with a fork and dropped in on Mrs. Lovett's plate. "Here. I don't need all three."

She stared up at him in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"You nearly passed out yesterday. That was what happened, right? On the stairs? You need food. And here I was thinkin' you were practical, even clever."

She peered at him. "Since when do you care whether or not I eat?"

"Just eat the damn flapjack." Sweeney cut into one his pancakes. It would lead to nothing but trouble to have Mrs. Lovett passing out while she was in the bakehouse making the pies; neither he nor Toby was allowed down there, and there would be no way of knowing that the bodies were piling up until they started to stink. He couldn't have someone notice the smell and discover his crimes just because Mrs. Lovett had fainted while she was working. Besides, he got no enjoyment out of seeing that Mrs. Lovett was sick. He wondered if maybe it had been a bad idea to force her to feed Lucy as much as she fed him.

Mrs. Lovett cut a tiny triangle from the flapjack that Mr. Todd had given her and ate it slowly. She continued eating in that unhurried, meticulous manner so she finished eating her one flapjack after Toby finished wolfing down his four.

"Toby, you'd better grow an entire three centimeters today to make up for what you eat," Nellie teased him, ruffling his hair. "But knowin' you, you'll likely grow four—one for each flapjack!"

"Mum…" Toby protested, smoothing his hair.

"I'm your mother, dear, it's me job to embarrass you once in awhile with remarks about 'ow much you're growin'."

"I ain't embarrassed," the boy replied softly. "I'm…I'm glad to be your son."

Sweeney suddenly felt incredibly awkward. It was not a feeling he was used to.

Nellie tousled Toby's hair again, then smoothed it. "Your hair is gettin' a bit long, ain't it?"

Toby glanced over at Mr. Todd with something like horror in his eyes. "I like it long," he blurted out a bit too quickly.

Mrs. Lovett shot Mr. Todd a look that clearly read, _Well, you can't blame 'im._

The barber stood and left the table, proceeding up the stairs without so much as a "thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Lovett," or even an "excuse me." Mrs. Lovett called something after him, but he wasn't listening.

Lucy didn't notice him when he walked up to her; she was busy gobbling up the flapjacks with her hands. She protested with a whine and some garbled words that he couldn't make out when he gently took a pancake from her clutching fingers and proceeded to cut it up with a fork. He had to show her how to wrap her fingers around the fork and stab the pieces. Just yesterday she had used a knife and fork without any trouble, with the minor exception of continually jabbing herself in the palm with the fork's tines once she was finished eating.

Watching Lucy struggle to eat, Sweeney found himself suddenly plunged into a memory from back when he was Benjamin Barker. He remembered a scene just a few seconds long from Benjamin's wedding to Lucy; they had been the first to take slices of the wedding cake, and Lucy was so adorably shy and nervous that she had dropped her first bite of the cake when lifting her fork. Benjamin had cut into his own slice and gently pushed the small bit of cake into Lucy's mouth. He remembered her warm blush, and that she had laughed—but he couldn't recall the sound of the laugh, couldn't picture the sheer white veil brushing Lucy's cheek as she dipped her head in thanks.

"I suppose you never were particularly deft with a fork, my love," said Sweeney bitterly to Lucy, who had just accidentally pushed one of the pieces of flapjack off the plate and onto the floor.

He knew he should stay and help her, but it was unbearable watching her battle with her food like a toddler. So he went back downstairs.

Mrs. Lovett was putting away everything she had used to make their breakfast. Toby was outside, placing silverware on the tables in the ale garden. It irritated Sweeney how Mrs. Lovett's face lit up when she saw him.

"What'cha doin' down 'ere, dear? And without your wife's plate. Ain't I always askin' you to remember to bring the plates back to the kitchen?"

"She's not finished eatin'." Sweeney watched Mrs. Lovett bustle about the kitchen, pulling out a large mixing bowl, a wooden spoon, flour, baking powder… "What are you up to?"

"Just mixin' up a batch of fresh dough. I just nipped the pies I stuffed last night into the oven, and they should be 'ot and ready by the time I'm done with the dough and then I can open up shop." She glanced quizzically at him, though she didn't stop moving; she pulled measuring utensils out of drawers and cabinets without looking at what she was doing. Sweeney couldn't help flinching when she saw her pull out her rolling pin. "Why are you down 'ere? You've got your own shop to open, eh?"

"What is it to you?" he snarled.

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, your business provides the supplies for me business. That's what it is to me."

Ah. Right. "I don't have to justify anythin' I do to you."

Mrs. Lovett rolled her eyes. "Right. We're business partners and the decisions one of us makes just 'appen to affect the other, so of course you don't 'ave to explain to me why you're openin' your shop late."

"You're insufferable. You know no sane person would ever want to be in the same room with you, right?"

"In that case, why're you 'ere?"

He didn't know why he was there, except that he couldn't stand to watch Lucy attempt to eat. Apparently Mrs. Lovett picked that up.

"Is somethin' wrong, love?"

"No!" Sweeney snarled. "What makes you think that?"

"Usually you don't wan'na be near me—you just said so yourself. Ever since you cut up me face when I needed you most to be there for me, you ain't been nothin' but cruel, except for last night. You've made it clear you'd rather spend time with your crazy wife who can't even string together a proper sentence than me, who just 'appens to still love you. Yet you're down 'ere with me, so somethin' about Lucy, or at least somethin' upstairs, must be drivin' you away." She paused. "I've got to get some things from the icehouse. I'll be right back."

Mr. Todd watched her go. She was too damn perceptive for her own good, and she was right about him not wanting to be around her. But almost anything was preferable to Lucy's personal battle with a fork bringing painful memories back to him.

Mrs. Lovett came back with several dough ingredients from the icehouse. "Still 'ere, then? So are you gon'na tell me what's upstairs that's troublin' you so much?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"It might 'elp you feel better."

Sweeney snorted. Mrs. Lovett gave him a pointed glance.

"Mr. T., I may talk a lot, but that don't mean I can't listen to you once in a while. I'd _like _to, really. I don't get to 'ear your voice enough."

Well, he supposed he could talk to her, and she didn't seem like the type to make fun of him after he had confided in her. She could be annoying in about every other way, but she wouldn't mock him.

"Memories. Just…bad memories."

Mrs. Lovett had begun measuring out ingredients while he was speaking, and he glared at her. She caught his glare and said breezily, "I'm a woman, Mr. Todd. I can do two things at once. So by 'bad memories,' do you mean memories that're of bad things, or memories that might be of nice things but make _you_ feel bad?"

Sweeney leaned against the wall. "The second one."

Mrs. Lovett began mixing. "Apparently I got'ta drag this out through your clenched teeth. What did you remember? Lucy?"

Mr. Todd paused. "Yes."

"Did you remember her the way she used to be, then?" She paused her mixing to look at him. He turned away.

"Yes."

"You all right?"

"I can't do this." He turned to walk away.

"Wait."

Against his better judgment, he faced her.

"You know, Mr. Todd, if you're ever feelin' melancholy, if there's anythin' I can do…" She trailed off. "I wan'na 'elp you."

He was about to start ignoring her again when he noticed that her right hand, resting on the counter to take a break from stirring, was surrounded by a small pool of blood. "You've cut yourself."

She lifted her hand. There was a cut running across her palm just below her fingers. "Hm. Don't remember doin' that." Sweeney watched in fascinated horror as she lifted her hand to her mouth and traced her tongue over the oozing cut. "Not so bad." She held her bleeding hand over the beginnings of the dough in the bowl and watched the dark red drip onto the powdery white.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sweeney grabbed her injured hand and pulled it away. "For God's sake, bandage that, don't go bleedin' in the dough!"

She laughed. "Mr. Todd, when you think about what the customers are already eatin,' surely a bit of me blood's only addin' insult to injury. And maybe it'll make the dough a prettier color."

Sweeney peered at her face. She looked up at him innocently, as if she had no idea that what she had just done was incredibly strange. Mrs. Lovett had always been…eccentric, but this was ridiculous.

"I'll ask you again. What…the hell…is wrong with you?"

"I'm fine, dear."

"You just bled all over your pie dough and you're goin' to tell me that's normal behavior?"

"Since when does either of us act _normal_?" She laughed and turned back to her stirring. "You'd best get to openin' your shop, love."

Sweeney watched her intently for a few more seconds, then returned upstairs. _Lucy is already…so different from how she used to be, and now Mrs. Lovett is acting strangely. I need Lovett to be whole and functional; I can't have her goin' mad on me now. I suppose that means I'll have to pay more attention to her now, which I'd rather _not _do, though she did kill Turpin for me…and she says she loves me, which, comin' from her, could mean any number of things…still, she's proved to be more dedicated than I thought._

Lucy was finished eating, and she was curled up in a ball on the floor, singing what sounded like a lullaby to herself. She shrieked and recoiled when Sweeney walked in.

"Love, it's all right. It's me."

"Get away!" Lucy wailed, covering her face with her hands.

"Lucy, please…" Sweeney took Lucy's hands and held them, his fingers curling around hers as delicately as he could manage. She turned away from him, whimpering, then looked at him cautiously, tilting her head to the side. "Don't I know you, mister?"

Sweeney blinked several times. The backs of his eyes were beginning to burn. "Do I know _you_?"

* * *

Mr. Todd's sleep was interrupted that night again. He had learned to sleep lightly in prison; the slightest noise could mean potential disaster. But this time, it was Mrs. Lovett crying out from a nightmare…again. He lay awake for a moment, debating whether or not he should go downstairs and stay with her. He didn't mind sleeping sitting up, and Lucy, though she (also) tended to occasionally cry out in her sleep or even wake up, she never needed him there in order to sleep. Mrs. Lovett was already weak from her lack of food, and he couldn't have her deprived of sleep as well. And she was acting strangely, what with the whole bleeding-in-the-batter incident earlier.

And, Sweeney thought as he proceeded downstairs, she had done quite a bit to deserve his attention, or at least his help. Not that he was particularly enthusiastic about giving it, but…

Mrs. Lovett was asleep when he got to her room, but she was clutching the sheets and whimpering, occasionally giving a louder, more frightened cry.

_She may be asleep, but does she have to be so pathetic? Hmm, well, I suppose I've had nightmares that might've been rather embarrassin' to witness. _He kicked the bed. "Wake up."

She woke. Her frantic eyes found him and calmed almost instantly. "Mr. T."

"What, you were expectin' someone else?"

"No, I just…" She sat up and wiped the sweat that had been dripping down her face on the sleeve of her nightdress. "Is somethin' wrong? You can't sleep?"

"Not with you screamin' in your sleep, no."

She immediately looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Obviously you didn't mean to wake me. You were asleep. But I thought maybe if I stayed down here, you could sleep _quietly _and not wake me up."

Her eyes lit up again. Did his mere presence really affect her that much? "D'you need me to set up somethin' more comfortable than a chair for you to sleep in?"

"If it's not too much trouble," he deadpanned.

"Of course it ain't too much trouble," she said as she got up, completely missing his sarcasm. In no time at all, she had set up a makeshift bed on the floor for him: a blanket neatly folded on the floor for a mattress, another blanket in place of sheets, and one of her less frilly decorative pillows upon which he could rest his head.

Sweeney lay down as Mrs. Lovett climbed back into bed. "G'night, love."

He rolled his eyes, or at least he would have if he were inclined to make facial expressions that didn't involve scowling. "Go to sleep."

"Not 'til you say good night."

Her teasing tone made him itch. "Are you tryin' to get me to leave?" He snarled.

"No! I'm sorry. Please stay. It really 'elps me sleep, you bein' 'ere."

"Fine," he growled.

"Thank you. For stayin'."

"Make another sound and I'll leave."

She was quiet. Sweeney couldn't help but be surprised; he would have thought that Mrs. Lovett wouldn't have the self-control to keep her mouth shut. Apparently she genuinely wanted him to stay with her. He found himself remembering the night she had crept upstairs to lie beside him while he slept; she had been willing to take another cut on her face from the razor for a few hours of being next to him. A few hours of being _unconscious and unaware_ that she was next to him.

_I'll never understand her. Or maybe this has something to do with the fact that she "loves" me. I'd thought that she just wanted a man on her arm, but perhaps she actually does care about me._ An image of a mad-eyed Mrs. Lovett, her face spattered with blood and his red-stained razor clenched in her hand, came to mind. _Yes, I think she does care about me. At least that's worked to my advantage. Too bad she's so bloody annoying._

Sweeney rolled over and looked up at Mrs. Lovett. She appeared to be asleep already; she was lying motionless with one arm draped over the side of the bed. Having him there truly had helped her sleep. At least, as he had learned last night, she was a quiet sleeper, as if she had to be very still and silent during the night in order to be so chatty and energetic during the day. It actually made sleeping near her tolerable.

Mr. Todd closed his eyes and was asleep within moments.

* * *

A/N: Yeah…important stuff, but not so exciting. I had to show Sweeney beginning to feel uncomfortable around crazy Lucy. And Nellie is starting to lose it, too. More happens in the next chapter. I actually intended this chapter and the next one to be part of a single chapter, but it would have been insanely long if I'd done that.


	8. Loss

Blade of Madness

Chapter Eight: Loss

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed. Not Sweenett…yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, eventual Sweenett (maybe)

Author's Notes: I hit Sweeney over the head with a Clue Bat. This had moderate success.

* * *

Sweeney quickly learned that if he simply went to Mrs. Lovett's room at the beginning of the night, he could avoid being woken up by her nightmare-induced screams. She was always grateful for him for staying with her, and he always avoided giving her any sort of positive response. She seemed mostly stable, except she tended to be (thankfully) more subdued than usual. Sweeney had also been joining Lovett and Toby for breakfast.

About four days after Mr. Todd started sleeping in Mrs. Lovett's room, she had another dizzy spell.

She had been bringing up his supper after a particularly grueling workday. He heard her hesitant footfalls as she proceeded to the upper story, followed by the same sound of her crumpling that he had heard the last time she had a dizzy spell on the stairs. Grumbling, Sweeney went outside.

Mrs. Lovett must have noticed that she was about to collapse, because she had had the presence of mind to put his food tray down before she fell. Mr. Todd picked up the tray and took it inside so he and Lucy could eat, then called for Toby to deal with Mrs. Lovett. A moment later the boy burst into the tonsorial parlor.

"What?" said Mr. Todd irritably.

"Mrs. Lovett won't wake up."

Todd made a low, angry snarl in the back of his throat and pushed past the boy. Mrs. Lovett was still sprawled on the stairs. He lifted her up, mildly surprised at how light she was, as if the bundle he carried was more dress cloth than flesh and bone. He dropped her roughly in the barber chair.

"Can't you be more gentle?" Toby protested. Sweeney ignored him.

"Wake up." He shook Mrs. Lovett, who didn't respond. "Damn." He turned to Toby. "Get some water."

Toby was back in an instant with a glass of water. Sweeney took it from him and carefully poured a thin stream of water into the baker's slack mouth. She coughed and gave a little gasp.

"Mum? You all right?" Toby queried anxiously.

Half-awake, she reached instinctively for the glass of water. Sweeney helped her drink. "Look what you've done now—passed out completely."

Still not completely conscious, she recognized his voice and her free hand reached for him, brushing his cheek.

Toby came to her side. "Mum, are you all right?"

"Here." Mr. Todd took a fork, stabbed a piece of chicken from one of the plates and held it to his neighbor's mouth. "Eat."

She turned her head to the side. "That's for you."

"I didn't just pass out from hunger. You did. Eat."

"Mum, please." Toby laid his hand on her shoulder. She flicked her eyes up to her son's face and let Sweeney push the food into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. Toby looked up at Mr. Todd and said, "Can't you tilt the chair up?"

"It's a barber's chair. It tilts backward, not forward," Mr. Todd snapped.

"Don't get in a tiff," whispered Mrs. Lovett. Toby helped her sit up.

"Can you eat on your own now?" That was Mr. Todd. The baker nodded and took the fork.

"I don't wan'na take your food."

"Will you just bloody eat? Eat everythin' on my plate. I'm not hungry."

Sweeney took Lucy's plate and brought it into the back room, leaving Mrs. Lovett and Toby alone.

"Mum, you know 'e don't really eat anyway," Toby pleaded. "Can't you ask 'im if 'e can give you some of 'is food?"

"I don't think 'e would mind," Nellie smiled weakly.

"I'm worried about you, Mum." Toby blinked rapidly.

"You cryin', love?"

He was. Mrs. Lovett reached up and brushed a tear from her son's face. "Oh! I'll be all right, dear. We'll figure somethin' out, you'll see. Come 'ere." She held her arms out to him and he bent down to rest his head on her shoulder. She kissed the top of his head. "If I can get Mr. Todd to take 'is crazy wife back to Bedlam, we'll be able to feed everyone in the 'ouse. Even if we don't 'ave as many customers as we used to."

"It ain't fair," Toby whimpered. "People not comin' to your shop even though your pies are the best, just 'cause you got a couple scars."

"Eh, well…life ain't fair." She patted his back. "Would you mind lettin' me eat now, son?"

"Oh…'course not." Toby pulled away.

"Why don't you go get your plate and we can eat together, eh?"

Toby nodded and scampered off. Well, it would have been more accurate to say he lumbered off; he was getting too tall to scamper.

"Such a good boy," Nellie whispered to herself before returning to her food. It was the first full meal she'd had in weeks.

Mr. Todd came out of the back room. "I saw people pass out like you do in prison. You're starvin'."

She looked up at him. "I know that, dear. And I can't do nothin' about it. I can't afford to feed four people, especially not with Toby eatin' three times as much as 'e used to. And the pie shop's losin' business."

"Losin' business? Why?"

"You've told me the reason often enough." Nellie pushed another forkful of chicken into her mouth. Her body was begging her to inhale the food, making her conscious decision to savor it very difficult to adhere to.

"What, you're annoying?"

"I'm ugly," said Nellie through the mouthful she had just taken. She swallowed. "The customers ain't fond of lookin' at me scars. Which I suppose you're gon'na tell me I deserved."

He said nothing.

"Mr. T., thank you for givin' me your food. But if things keep goin' the way they do, I'll be gettin' very sick."

"Hmm."

"And 'aven't you noticed that Lucy don't seem to be gettin' any better?"

"You want me to send her back to Fogg's Asylum. You want her to be locked up with all those…incoherent lunatics."

"That'd be where I'm goin' with this, yeah. And Lucy ain't so coherent 'erself, if you 'aven't noticed."

"The answer is _no_."

"So you'd rather I get so weak I can't feed you or…"

Toby walked in, carrying his supper plate.

"…not be able to carry out our business arrangement?" she finished. "Keep in mind this buildin' belongs to me. I die, you don't 'ave a place to stay."

"What!?" cried Toby, horrified.

"I ain't dyin' anytime soon, love, don't worry," she consoled her son, twisting around to look at him. She turned back to Mr. Todd. "That is, if we figure out a way to keep all of us fed."

"I won't take Lucy to that place!"

"Why not? Arsenic leaves people weak in the head and there ain't no bringin' 'em back. I ought'a never told you she was alive, 'cause she ain't! There ain't nothin' left of Lucy except 'er body. And it 'urts you to see that, don't it?"

"Bite your tongue! Filthy bitch…"

"Don't you go callin' er dirty names!" Toby howled.

"That's why you've been stayin' away from 'er, ain't it? Eatin' breakfast with me and Toby and comin' downstairs when you ain't busy, even though you can't stand me? You hate bein' around Lucy 'cause you know it ain't possible to bring the real Lucy back."

"I don't have to listen to you prattle." Sweeney turned away from her. If he hadn't been about to cry, he would have attacked her—after all, she didn't have her rolling pin with her.

"Mr. T., are you all right?" Nellie got up, slowly. She walked to him and peered at his face. "You're cryin'." She reached up to brush away his tears the way she had done with Toby a moment ago, but he shoved her.

"Get away."

"I'm just tryin' to 'elp."

Sweeney snorted and went into the back room. Nellie turned to her son. "Let's eat downstairs, love."

* * *

Despite their earlier disagreement, Sweeney came to Mrs. Lovett's room that night to avoid being woken up by her nightmares.

"Mr. Todd?" She whispered to him after he had climbed into his makeshift bed.

"What?"

"I know it 'urts you to see Lucy the way she is. I don't like to see you 'urtin'."

He said nothing.

"You don't care that I'm starvin' cause I can't feed four people, but I don't expect you to care about that. About…me." Sweeney didn't miss the way her voice quivered when she said that. "You don't care that you can't stand seein' that Lucy's completely mad, but what about Lucy? She's scared of you 'alf the time, and she's bloody terrified of me. You think stayin' 'ere is doin' 'er any good?"

"Neither will Bedlam."

"Neither will anywhere! I said it before, but you're so bloody thick-'eaded I'll say it again. People who take arsenic but some'ow manage not to take enough to die are left lunatics or idiots, and there ain't nothin' to be done for it. That ain't just true for your wife." She sighed irritably. "Maybe I ought'a take arsenic too, then perhaps you'd care more about me if I were babblin' nonsense and cowerin' when you walk into a room and…and…pickin' old bones out of the rubbish people throw away."

Sweeney came close to saying "You already babble nonsense." But was there really any need to be so hard on Mrs. Lovett? He didn't particularly enjoy insulting her anymore and was merely doing it out of habit. And lately she had been actually focusing on serious topics instead of superficial empty chatter; she'd even started talking less in general. Whether her recent troubling experiences had mellowed her or she had simply learned he didn't like it when she prattled on, he couldn't tell.

"Mr. Todd," came her voice again, softer this time. "You know takin' Lucy back to the asylum would be the best thing for us all. You think the old Lucy would want to see you sufferin' like this?"

Tears sprung to Sweeney's eyes. He wiped them away furiously. _No! Sweeney Todd does not cry!_

"Mr. T.? You all right?"

"Fine," he rasped, his tone refuting his statement.

"Shall I make you some tea? Some chamomile, that'll put you right. Gin don't seem to make you sleepy the way it does for Toby."

"Fine," said the barber again, meaning it this time. He heard Mrs. Lovett get up and struggled to push his faded memories of Lucy from his mind; the few memories he had were gray and spotted like old daguerreotypes, and his mental images of her sweet, shy face were far too often overlaid with the leers or panicked expressions she gave him now. Before he knew it, Mrs. Lovett was back with his tea. He sat up to take the cup from her.

"You certain you're all right, love?" She ran her fingers through his hair and for once he didn't lash out at her for touching him. "Anythin' else I can do?"

"No. The tea is enough. Go to sleep."

"All right." She took her hand from his hair and let it graze his cheek as it fell. "Sleep well, dear."

He took a sip of the tea to avoid answering.

The chamomile worked wonders. Mr. Todd slept within minutes of draining the teacup.

* * *

Sweeney spent more time than usual in the pie shop the following day, silently blaming Mrs. Lovett for pointing out how much it bothered him to see Lucy in her deteriorated state. The pie shop wasn't as full as it used to be, but Mrs. Lovett was still more occupied with her business than with him.

He watched Mrs. Lovett to distract himself. He had never bothered to think about how strenuous running a pie shop might be, but he was beginning to consider it now—Mrs. Lovett was perpetual motion embodied, constantly running back and forth from her kitchen to the customers, often carrying enormous trays of pies or glasses that couldn't have been light or easy to balance. Sweeney also never expected to feel particularly sorry for a batch of pie dough, but considering he too had felt the sting of Mrs. Lovett's rolling pin, he couldn't help but be made slightly uncomfortable by watching Mrs. Lovett pound the living daylights out of the dough. He was beginning to understand how she had been able to eventually overpower her attacker the night the pie shop was robbed, and even how she had been strong enough to kill Turpin. There was nothing graceful or delicate about Mrs. Lovett, but apparently there was something to be said for her fortitude.

Mr. Todd went back upstairs before it was time for Mrs. Lovett to bring him his supper. She managed to not faint on the stairs, and she didn't bother him about Lucy for once; she only gave him a sad look when Lucy panicked at the sight of the food (something about the peas being demons' eyes).

Sweeney didn't have much of an appetite, so when he brought his and Lucy's plates (she had eaten everything but the peas) downstairs, he intended to give what remained of his meal to Mrs. Lovett. But when he saw her carefully tracing the tip of one of her kitchen knives down her outer forearm, that thought flew from his mind.

"Mrs. Lovett?"

She put down the knife and looked at him. "Done with your supper, Mr. T?"

"What in the hell are you doin'?"

She looked puzzled. "Just cleanin' up."

"I was talkin' about your arm."

Mrs. Lovett held out her inner forearms and examined them. "What about me arm?"

Sweeney came all the way down the stairs and set the plates down on the counter. "Your left arm. Turn it over."

She did so, and started when she saw the blood.

"Oi! Must've cut meself…"

"Of course you cut yourself; you did it on purpose! I saw you!"

She looked at him quizzically. "Why would I do a thing like that?"

"Your knife's bloody! I saw you usin' it to cut yourself!"

Mrs. Lovett picked up the knife and eyed the blade, which did indeed have traces of blood on it. "That's odd…"

Todd grabbed her injured arm. "I saw you make this cut with that knife, so stop pretendin' you didn't!"

She was still staring at him with a baffled look on her face.

"You don't remember doin' it, do you?"

The baker shook her head slowly. "Did I really cut meself?"

"Yes, you did." His grip on her arm loosened.

She gave a little laugh that sounded a bit pained. "Well, that'd explain all the cuts and burns I've been gettin' without rememberin' where I got 'em." She looked down at her bloody arm. "There was so much blood…"

"Mrs. Lovett, are you…quite all right?"

She didn't answer.

"What do you mean, 'there was so much blood?' Was it when you killed the judge?"

Mrs. Lovett nodded. "Whenever I chop up a body for the meat, I always think it's 'im again. Sometimes I see the blood gushin' all over, even though there ain't any cause they're dead, see, you can't bleed once you're dead, but still I feel like it's spurtin' everywhere…!"

"Mrs. Lovett!" The hand on her arm moved to her shoulder in what might have been a comforting gesture. She glanced up at him as if surprised that he was still there.

"Sorry, love, I…" she trailed off. "I'm goin' mad, ain't I?" she said in a very small voice.

Sweeney's hand tightened on her shoulder.

She gave her slightly frenzied laugh again. "Maybe you should've let them take me to Bedlam the day they came for me."

"Don't say that."

Mrs. Lovett made a sound that had probably been intended to be another laugh but came out as a whimper. She leaned against him.

_I need to distract her._ "Mrs. Lovett, you know, when you pull your hair away from your face the way you do, it makes you look like you're tryin' to draw attention away from the scars."

"And that's…bad?"

"It looks like you're tryin' too hard." He stepped back to examine her face, and she lowered her eyes to avoid looking at his expression. "I could fix your hair is a way that might help. If you want."

"It's the end of the day…it's a bit late to be fixin' me hair," she said hesitantly, backing away from him.

"Well, if you don't like it, you can change it tomorrow mornin'. Come upstairs."

"Why do you care 'ow me hair looks?"

Mr. Todd supposed he couldn't fault her for being suspicious. "I'm a barber, and that mess you call hair has been botherin' me for a while."

That was more like it. She followed him upstairs.

Sweeney went to his supplies, retrieving two wooden combs, one with large tines and one that was more fine-toothed. "Sit down."

"What, in the chair?" Mrs. Lovett sounded a bit panicked.

"Where else?"

"No. I ain't sittin' in that chair. You kill people in that chair."

"You've sat there before."

"That was 'cause you didn't 'ave a better place to put me down after I 'ad that dizzy spell. I said I won't sit there again."

Sweeney's limited patience was running out. "For God's sake, woman, I'm _not _goin' to kill you!"

Mrs. Lovett folded her arms and didn't move.

The barber made an exasperated sound. "Fine. Come over here. Take the pins out of your hair."

She obeyed him. It took longer than he expected for her to take her hair down; she ended up with almost an entire fistful of hairpins. She ran her free hand through the unruly curls.

Sweeney stood behind her and slowly pulled the large comb through her hair. It was not as tangled or unpleasant to touch as he had expected. The air was dry and at times there was a crackling sound when the comb slid through the tendrils of dark red; Sweeney was constantly smoothing down the flyaways. Eventually he had worked the knots from Mrs. Lovett's mane.

"What're you goin' to do with me hair?"

"I have an idea…I'm goin' to put your hair into French plaits, I think…" He was focusing more on his task than answering her question and she knew it. She felt the comb's tip slide down the back of her head, separating her hair into two segments. "Hold this." He was pushing a fistful of her hair towards her face and she took hold of it. While she held that half of her hair out of the way, Mr. Todd ran the fine-toothed comb through the hair on the other side. "Your hair is so bloody curly…" He dampened the comb and slid it through her hair again, temporarily straightening the curls so he could begin the braid. Mrs. Lovett held very still as Mr. Todd's hands worked her incorrigible hair into a plait that somehow seemed to involve him guiding increasingly large amounts of hair into the three sections of the braid.

As Sweeney worked, he found himself remembering something Mrs. Lovett had said earlier; she had insisted madness could kill someone just as effectively as a razor could, or something similar to that. He was starting to believe he was right. Lucy was so different now…he had held out hope that he could guide Lucy back to being the way she used to be, but she was only getting worse. And recent events had obviously taken a toll on Mrs. Lovett herself, most notably the fact that she had somehow forced herself to kill Turpin even though she hadn't truly had murder in her heart. Thinking of her comment about the "blade of madness," Mr. Todd imagined a sharpened razor hovering of its own volition against Mrs. Lovett's neck, drawing only a thin stream of blood, but still a threat pushing steadily deeper into the helpless flesh. He pushed the image away, trying not to think of what that blade would do if it wasn't stopped.

He tied the braid off when he reached the base of her skull and started work on the other half of her hair, twisting it into a plait identical to the first one. When he was finished with the second braid, he took the ribbon he had used to secure the first braid the tie off both plaits at the back of her head. Then he ran the larger comb through the mop of curls that had been left unbraided. "Look in the mirror. See if you like it."

"Mr. T., I've been avoidin' mirrors whenever I can lately…"

"Would you just look?" He gripped her shoulders tightly and pulled her in front of the mirror. Reluctantly, Mrs. Lovett regarded her reflection. Mr. Todd had done the braids so they were not so tight as to lie very flat against her head, and the neat pattern of the plaits framed her face in a way that softened the angles of her features. Even her scars seemed a bit less noticeable. She looked up at him and smiled.

"I like it. Thanks, love."

He looked at her with a stony, dead expression. "You're welcome."

"I think it'll 'old well enough through tomorrow, but…would you mind plaitin' me hair like this every mornin'? I mean, it didn't seem like it took too long…"

"Yes."

She grinned. "Thank you."

"You'll get less customers lookin' at the scars now."

Mrs. Lovett risked standing on her tiptoes to drop a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Mr. T. I really mean that."

"You've thanked me three bloomin' times. That's enough. Leave me."

"So…you'll be comin' downstairs later, then?"

"Yes." Mr. Todd paused. "I wasn't hungry. You can eat what I didn't."

She felt the impulse to kiss him again, but ignored it, not wanting to push her luck. Instead, she returned downstairs. The food that Mr. Todd had left for her had gone cold, but she ate it anyway.

The barber came downstairs about a half hour later. He wasn't tired, but Lucy was refusing to go anywhere near him and he couldn't even get close enough for her to say "Don't I know you, Mister?" Mrs. Lovett was lying in her bed, eyes closed, but she stirred when he came into the room.

"Evenin', dear."

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"I dunno. I think maybe I'm gettin' to the point where I can't sleep without you."

"Wonderful," Todd growled, lying down on his makeshift bed.

"I 'eard Lucy screamin'. She's gettin' worse."

"Be quiet. Don't remind me. You try to convince me that Lucy is past hope almost every time we talk and I'm sick of it. Will you just let it go?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Well, 'ave you thought about what'll 'appen if everythin' stays the way it is now?"

"Yes."

"So…what're you gon'na do?"

"Don't know. And I don't bloody want to think about it." He sat up. "You know, I tolerate you when I come down here because I can't sleep with either Lucy or you cryin' at night. But I also can't sleep with you talkin' to me about things that…_irritate _me."

Mrs. Lovett knew he meant something stronger than "irritate." "I'm sorry, sweet. Would it 'elp you sleep if I made you that chamomile again?"

"Yes."

"All right." She got up and, for the second night in a row, made Sweeney Todd a cup of tea. She kissed his cheek as she handed it to him.

"What was that for?" He grumbled as he took the tea.

"What?"

"Why did you kiss me?" Mr. Todd took a sip of his chamomile, glaring at her over the cup's rim.

"Lucy used to kiss you, right?"

"Of course."

"She did it for the same reason I do." She climbed back into bed. "Sweet dreams, Mr. T. I know, I know, you ain't goin' to say anythin' polite—just 'go to sleep.' I'm goin' to sleep, then, all right?"

Mr. Todd said nothing at first. It was after he had finished his tea and after Mrs. Lovett had likely nodded off that he finally said "Good night, Mrs. Lovett."

* * *

Sweeney ate breakfast with Mrs. Lovett and the boy the next morning, then went upstairs to Lucy. She wasn't afraid of him at first; she even invited him to eat with her (he had ignored the lascivious grin that had accompanied this invitation). Moments after he had sat down beside her and she had become occupied with her food, she glanced over at him and panicked, leaping up so her plate fell to the floor.

"Mischief! Mischief!"

"Lucy, sweet…"

"Get away! Stay away! Mischief! Evil!"

He came close to picking up the plate, retrieving the fallen breakfast, and trying to calm Lucy down the way he always did. But he found himself standing, feeling worn and helpless, as the terrified woman backed away from him until she was huddled in a corner, curled into what was almost a fetal position. She wrung her hands, muttering.

"Lucy," he whispered. She did not hear him. "Lucy," he said louder. "_Lucy!_"

She did not even look up.

"Are you afraid?" he said tonelessly, not certain to whom he was speaking. That seemed to catch the beggar's attention. She whipped her head from side to side, searching her surroundings for the source of the question.

"Afraid? Oh, is I afraid, 'e asks? It'll be trouble for me, sir, trouble for anyone! This place, it's poison, it is!"

Poison. Arsenic, from the apothecary around the corner. A horrible, horrible substance that could destroy a mind forever.

"You don't want to stay here, do you?"

"Evil is 'ere, sir! The stench of evil! The fires of Hell, the brimstone, the smell! The smoke, it's a sign, sir—that's 'ow yer tell! Evil is 'ere!" She grabbed handfuls of hair and buried her face in her knees.

"I'll take that as a no." Sweeney regarded the woman in the corner. The hair was the same—that beautiful, beautiful yellow hair, even if it had faded with time just like the memories—but everything else was gone. "Would you like to leave?"

She looked up at him, or at least in his general direction. "Leave! Leave! Out o' the teeth and the jaws of Hell! Oh, if yer can, sir, get me out!"

There was warm water dripping slowly down Sweeney's face and he wasn't quite sure how it had gotten there. "Come with me."

Tremulous, Lucy followed him. She ended up tailing him around the room for a few moments as he collected her few belongings. She recognized them as hers enough to carry them as she and Sweeney left the tonsorial parlor, Sweeney taking a route that made certain Mrs. Lovett wouldn't see their departure. He actually stood in the doorway for several minutes, watching the street in front of him. The scene that met his eyes was filthy, gray, grimy, thronged with self-absorbed Londoners hustling through meaningless lives. It was not a world he could trust to take care of Lucy, but then again, what more could it do to her?

As Mr. Todd walked, he kept Lucy tucked under his arm, his eyes locked on the street ahead, ignoring Lucy's mutters and shrieks as well as the odd looks that they garnered from passersby. He had to maintain a tight grip on her to keep her from scurrying up to strangers with her hands cupped, begging for alms. He found himself thinking of the times when Benjamin and Lucy Barker had strolled down the avenues together, arms linked, aware of only each other. Or had he only manufactured those memories? It didn't matter; either way, they hurt.

The building loomed suddenly, almost as if it had sprung out of the ground in front of them. An iron fortress, with the most horrible wailing and gibbering sounds coming from behind barred windows. Sweeney hated himself for thinking even for a moment that Lucy sounded like the poor souls locked in there. Fogg's Asylum for the Mentally Deranged. The madhouse. Bedlam.

Lucy had her head cocked, staring intently up at the building. She tried to pull free of Sweeney's grip and whined when he did not let her go.

If Sweeney had had trouble leaving 186 Fleet Street, that was nothing compared to the effort it took to walk up to the institution's massive iron doors. As he stood, repelled by the miasma of terror that seemed to emanate from the place, every ounce of his being screamed to scoop up his Lucy in his arms and run as far from that Godforsaken hellhole as he could, to some secluded place far away from London where he could be alone with her and slowly bring her back to health. But she was not his Lucy anymore, and nothing suggested that she would ever be so again. So he trudged forward, feeling as if he were slogging through knee-deep sludge in order to fight his own instincts. Lucy shuffled along beside him. Even once he reached the doors, it took him an agonizing minute to raise his hand and knock.

Later, he would not remember what happened after the door swung open, how two grungy attendants came to "examine" Lucy but all they did was listen to her babble for a few moments before concluding that she was indeed mentally deranged. They did not let Mr. Todd see where she was going to live from now on. It seemed to him that one moment he had the woman who had once been his wife hugged close to him and the next she was gone. He barely noticed as another attendant was forced to practically push him out the door, as he seemed to be both paralyzed and struck dumb after Lucy was taken from him.

Once he was outside, his feet knew the way back to his residence, but his mind was in senseless turmoil with the effort to not focus on what had just happened. He did not even realize he was home until he was back in the tonsorial parlor with the "closed" sign facing outward. He went to the window and gazed emptily outside, not even watching the scuttling bipeds below.

The bell chimed and a voice cried out his name. Or rather, his nickname. "Mr. T! What are you up to? I saw you walkin' up 'ere lookin' like you was sleepwalkin'!" A pause. "Wait…where's your wife?"

"As you might put it," he rasped, "she's gone." Again, there was water streaming down his face and he couldn't exactly think of why.

There came a soft sigh, and a phrase spoken gently by a voice that was normally grating. "Oh, love…you finally sent 'er away."

"Sent her away? No. No, she was taken from me. She was _stolen_ from me!"

There was a hand on his arm. "The years ain't finished bein' cruel to you, is they? Me poor Mr. T…"

"You…have no…_idea_!" he roared, whirling on her. Mrs. Lovett backed up, nearly tripping over herself in the process.

"Well, I…I can see you wan'na be alone—I'll just go," she said hastily, obviously afraid that she was about to become the object of his rage. He locked his hand around her wrist before she got the chance to run off.

"No." He dragged her near to him and clutched her in a death grip, the way a drowning man might grasp at a lifeline. "You'll stay _right here_."

Nellie nearly gasped with relief. She had been terrified that he was about to kill her, but now he was holding her, albeit tightly enough to crush her. So she slipped her arms around him and tenderly kneaded his back with her strong, work-worn hands, trying not to think about the fact that he was likely only holding her because he was pretending she was Lucy. "It was for the best, my sweet. It was for the best. She was dead, same as Benjamin Barker was dead."

He held her for a long, long time, only half aware of whom he was embracing. He kept his eyes closed, submerging himself in a pleasant darkness where nothing existed; if Lucy had never existed, he wouldn't have to mourn her. Through this darkness he could sense that the presence in his arms was warm and comforting, and for the moment, that was all he cared about.

* * *

A/N: About time, Sweeney. About freakin' time. Oh, and...REVIEW!!! (Please?)


	9. Embrace

Blade of Madness

Chapter Nine: Embrace

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, eventual Sweenett (in this chapter…?)

Author's Notes: Sorry about the long wait. Actually…has it been a long wait? Ugh…I've been writing papers and studying for finals like a madwoman and my brain has been melted. Finishing this chapter has kept me sane. I know it's a long one. Try to bear with me; I couldn't figure out a good place to break it up.

* * *

Sweeney Todd had never spoken much, but for the next few days, he said almost nothing. Nellie paid especially close attention to him, knowing that he was grieving for Lucy; as much as she disapproved of Sweeney's stubborn attachment to the beggar woman, she knew by now that getting cross with him would accomplish nothing. So she took care to make him the foods that he liked best, and brought him little presents whenever she went to the market. He was so preoccupied with the loss of Lucy he had trouble sleeping, and even the chamomile ceased to be effective. So Nellie went to the apothecary and got him some valerian root, and, once she discovered that he wouldn't lash out at her for it, gave him a neck massage each night to help him relax. He never thanked her, even though he slept more easily. But during the day, his brooding intensity—that anger, that fire that burned within him and always threatened to shatter his cool, smooth façade—was gone. He was listless and subdued, even with his customers.

Nellie hated to see her beloved Sweeney so enervated, but she couldn't deny that she was happy for the distraction of caring for him. It gave her something to think about so she didn't have time to dwell on the uncontrollable memories of her murder of Judge Turpin, or the cuts and that materialized on her hands and arms without her knowing where they came from. But there was nothing to help or distract her when she cut up the bodies of Sweeney's victims in the bakehouse at night. Every time she sank her knife into a cold, stiff corpse, it seemed to come alive under her blade, writhing and choking the way Judge Turpin had done. She had learned not to look at the face, which was always a painfully flawless memory of Turpin's expression as she sank her blade into his stomach. But no matter what, she could see the blood spurting from the wounds, impossible amounts, dousing her arms in red, sometimes gushing into her eyes. In a sick, horrible way, it was best when the blood hit her in the eyes, because when she wiped it away the body would be still again. There were ways for her to make her…reaction…less severe, like paying close attention to the way the human body was built, trying to memorize where all the various parts and pieces were, sometimes speculating on what they did. Her little methods worked occasionally, but she still prayed for the day Sweeney's rage would calm enough that he would stop killing; hopefully it would come soon, as he was already acting languid. The money no longer mattered to her; with Lucy gone, they could scrape by on what the pie shop brought in even without the free meat supply. Perhaps she could start baking things other than meat pies; even the sullen Mr. Todd, who needed to be persuaded to eat, enjoyed her cooking as long as she had decent ingredients. And if need be, Nellie could sell more of her pretty dresses, jewelry, even her much-loved harmonium if it came to that, as long as she never had to sink her knife into another corpse again.

It was a week after Sweeney had taken Lucy back to Bedlam that Nellie finally asked him to stop killing. He had climbed into his makeshift bed in her room (she was beginning to wonder if she should ask him to help her move his cot downstairs) when she addressed him. "Mr. Todd?"

"What?"

Well, at least he had answered.

"Do you think you're gon'na stop killin' your customers any time soon?"

"Why?"

"Well…remember that time you came downstairs with the plates from your supper, and…"

"You cut your own arm without rememberin' it?"

Not only had he spoken, but he had actually interrupted her. It took her a few seconds for her to process that before she spoke again. "There was that, I suppose, but I was goin' to say I told you that since I…I killed the judge for you...it ain't been easy for me to cut up the bodies what come down the chute from your barbershop. 'Cause I keep…seein' things."

"Right. Blood gushin' everywhere."

He remembered. "Mr. T., am I dreamin' or did you actually remember somethin' I said more than five minutes ago?"

"Just because I don't choose to listen to you doesn't mean I can't."

"So, what about me question? Are you gon'na stop cuttin' throats any time soon? Or…can you?"

He was quiet for a moment, and she almost gave up on getting an answer, but then he spoke. "I don't know."

"Well…could you try?"

"Don't you need the meat?"

"I'll try to buy decent meat from the butcher, and if I can't get enough of that, I'll start bakin' more than just meat pies. Maybe the customers might like a little variety. I don't know."

"Do you have enough money for that?"

"I don't care as long as I can feed you and Toby! I'll sell some of the nice things I bought after me shop started doin' well. I'll sell me own body, for God's sake! I just can't chop up bloody corpses anymore!"

"Would you really do that? Sell yourself for money?"

Nellie angrily brushed tears from her eyes. She had hoped she could get through this confrontation without getting emotional. She hated being emotional. It made her feel weak or, worse, like she wasn't in control of herself. "No. Just about anythin' else, though. If Toby weren't so bloomin' virtuous, I'd teach 'im to be a pickpocket. I picked up a few tricks meself as a child…"

Somehow Sweeney was not at all surprised by that.

"Please, Mr. T., will you at least think on it? Maybe just not kill so many for now?"

Stop killing. Or at least slow down. It wasn't something that had occurred to him. Then again, he had made no plans for life after the Judge's death. Could he stop killing? Or did he need to kill, just to take out his rage against humanity? He didn't know how much rage was left in him. Lately, he had been feeling rather…empty.

"Fine. I won't kill as many. But I'll leave it up to you to figure out how you're goin' to afford this."

Nellie let out a huge sigh, and Sweeney realized she had been holding her breath. "Thanks, love." She actually got out of bed to kneel beside him and wrap an arm around him in an awkward sort of hug.

"Wait."

"What is it?"

She had draped one arm over his chest, allowing him to see a fresh cut on the back of her hand. He lifted this hand by the wrist and scrutinized the wound. "What did you do to yourself now, woman?"

"I don't know."

"Did you cut yourself again?"

"I don't…why would I do that on purpose?"

"I don't bloody know, but I saw you cut your own arm that one night and suddenly forget you'd done it." He pushed up her sleeve, revealing several more cuts, some fading, some new. "Show me your other arm."

She did, and that other arm was also marred with cuts—more so than the first, since it was her left arm, and she was right-handed.

"What the hell is this? Are you cuttin' on yourself to get me to feel sorry for you?"

"How can that be if I don't remember doin' it?" she snapped, but she sounded frightened.

"Are you mad? What kind of person does this?"

"I don't know! Maybe…maybe whenever I think about 'ow I killed the judge and I see blood all over me 'ands…maybe this is where the blood comes from. Or at least some of it."

They were both quiet for a moment, Sweeney turning Mrs. Lovett's arms over and back again. "Can you stop?"

"I 'ope so. I think not needin' to cut up so many bodies would 'elp, since that would stop, you know, bringin' back the memories."

"You're deranged."

"I'm afraid you're right, dear."

Sweeney didn't miss the way her voice trembled, and for a split second he actually regretted that last remark. He rolled the sleeves of her nightgown back up to her wrists. He got the vague sensation that he should be comforting her, but he felt no direct impulse to do so, nor did he know how. So he simply sat there while she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his back, letting her take whatever small solace she could in the unrequited embrace. He did hesitantly reach for one of her hands, but she pulled away before he could complete the gesture.

"Good night, love." She climbed back into her bed, obviously making an effort to keep her emotions in check. He supposed he couldn't fault her for being afraid; the prospect of going irrefutably mad was a frightening one. Especially after what happened to Lucy…

"Good night, Mrs. Lovett."

Did she actually _giggle _when she heard that? Perhaps she was still trying not to cry.

"Mr. T.? Do you think I'll end up carted off to Bedlam too?"

"You'd better not. I need a place to stay."

"Is that the only reason you don't want me goin' mad?"

He said nothing.

"Hm. That's what I thought. Anyway…'night, dear."

Sweeney fell into a deep, disquieting dream that he would not remember when he woke.

* * *

The following morning while Sweeney was braiding Nellie's hair, she issued him a gentle reminder that she wanted him to kill fewer people, and she would go to the market and buy ingredients for some baked goods besides meat pies. Sweeney did not answer at first; he was busy combing his neighbor's curls. He always tended to lose himself in his work, whether it was killing or barbering. Besides, Mrs. Lovett had started taking better care of her hair since she'd asked Sweeney to braid it each day, and now it was quite soft and pleasant to fix.

"Mr. T.? You listenin'? No, 'course you ain't, why am I even askin'?"

"I'll try to shave more and kill less if you stop naggin' me."

"Thanks, love." Just as he was tying off the braids at the back of her head, she reached back and took his hand, spinning around and pressing a kiss to his knuckles before he had time to pull his hand away. He had been less quick to lose his temper when she chose to show affection, and now she was testing the waters to see how far she could go before he would get angry. At this point, he wouldn't lose his temper at her; he gave her no response at all.

He almost forgot Mrs. Lovett's request later that day when a conversation with his third customer revealed that the young man was a stranger from a small town in the countryside who was searching London for a place to live, then perhaps a job or even a wife. Sweeney's first instinct was to kill the man, as he wouldn't be missed; but his neighbor's words came back to him in time, and the young stranger left the tonsorial parlor alive. Sweeney ended up killing only one man that day, and he continued to kill only one or two each day as the week dragged on. It was horribly tempting for him to kill anyone who was not known in London, but he found himself still somewhat satisfied with his work at the end of the day, if a bit hollow; the Judge was dead, so what was he practicing for? He still wanted the Beadle dead, he supposed, but that would be merely icing on the cake; the Beadle would simply do any dirty work given to him, and he had aided the Judge in all his filthy, corrupted pursuits, but it had always been the Judge who Sweeney truly wanted dead.

Mrs. Lovett's pie shop was doing quite well, despite the recent decline in the number of meat pies. She had started diversifying the menu, and seemingly was gaining more customers. With the proper ingredients, it seemed, she was actually a decent—if not excellent—baker. Sweeney checked her hands and arms religiously for new cuts (which could get difficult, because he didn't want her thinking he cared overmuch about her and had to perform his little examinations without her noticing), and saw the number of fresh wounds decrease. She also had fewer nightmares; even with him there, she still would sometimes wake with a start and a stifled cry, but the number of times that happened also began to taper off. After a few weeks, she was even starting to look a tiny bit less gaunt, and her sallow cheeks began to turn a slightly healthier shade of white.

Sweeney wouldn't have admitted it under torture, but life was improving. He would have never admitted this because he only kept considering the fact that it was nowhere near perfect. Whether he was watching a limp corpse slide down the chute to the bakehouse or the door swing shut after a satisfied customer, he could not feel completely fulfilled by his work; not Sweeney Todd's murdering or Benjamin Barker's barbering. Mrs. Lovett (damn her) noticed this. Sweeney had never paid much attention to her, but he still knew of her phenomenal ability to see reality as what she wanted, so it stunned him that she could be so perceptive of his moods. He supposed she had given up on her foolish daydreams of him falling for her and was focusing on how he actually felt. When he felt unusually listless, she would see his languid mood and make some sort of effort to make him feel better; she would buy him a little present when she went to the market, or make a dish for supper that she knew he was especially fond of. Sometimes she would even try to get him to tell her what was bothering him. Even if he had wanted to tell her what was wrong, he couldn't have; it was the _lack _of something occupying him that was causing his enervated moods. He seemed to exist in a liminal state on the nebulous border between sleep and wakefulness. As time wore on, his work became worse at pulling him out of that state, and Mrs. Lovett became better at it. He had even stopped minding when she wrapped her arms around him while querying, "Somethin' troublin' you, dear?"

Sometimes, when business was slow, Mrs. Lovett would bring him downstairs and give him some small, easy task to do in the pie shop, just to keep him occupied. Usually she had him do something like sweep the excess flour from the countertop into a bowl; she hated to waste any ingredient. Even if he had finished whatever task she had given him, sometimes he would sit in the pie shop, watching. Just looking at Mrs. Lovett made him feel a bit dizzy at first, but he soon became more used to the sight of her scurrying and bustling about without the slightest pause, calling things out to Toby and the customers. She was so bloody active that her energy was infectious; being near her made Sweeney feel slightly less lethargic.

Being in the pie shop more often had the added side effect of him seeing why Mrs. Lovett's establishment was doing fairly well, despite the fact that she had lost the customers who were troubled by looking at her scars. A new crowd of customers had begun frequenting the pie shop. Sweeney noticed that some of the new customers looked surprisingly uncouth. He had once thought of Mrs. Lovett as "just another homely little shrew running a struggling shop in the slums of London," but Fleet Street was really a business district, not a slum, so the appearance of sordid-looking men in Lovett's ale garden was a bit jarring. It didn't take him long to realize what the grimy newcomers were doing there; they were the types that attended the traveling freakshows that sometimes passed through London, and took a perverse pleasure in seeing the weird malformed specimens of humanity displayed there. These men found Mrs. Lovett's scarred face similarly intriguing, especially after they'd had a few servings of ale. On one occasion, Mr. Todd was killing time in the pie shop when he happened to glance out the window and see one of the customers—a greasy-looking man who had been harassing Mrs. Lovett and getting bolder with every drink—actually hanging on to the baker's arm and pulling her near him, leering. Even from that distance, Sweeney could see the sparks flying from her eyes. He also immediately understood her quandary; obviously she had to get away from the impudent customer and, ideally, throw him out, but he was so drunk that he would no longer listen to her. Sweeney knew perfectly well that Mrs. Lovett could fight him off easily, but she couldn't raise a fuss like that in her own restaurant, so he made the decision to not give her the rolling pin; instead he walked to where she was arguing in a low, almost snarling voice with the man who still refused to release her arm. He took her lightly by the shoulders and said to the impertinent customer, "I believe Mrs. Lovett has other customers to attend to."

"But surely she c'n stay a bit longer?" slurred one of the obnoxious man's companions.

"You fellows have paid," said Mrs. Lovett coldly. "I ain't servin' any of you more drink, so unless you're plannin' to order somethin' that won't get you more drunk, you ought'a leave. We're busy and there'll be somebody wantin' that table."

The men just looked at each other and snickered.

Mrs. Lovett glanced up to see Toby returning from an emergency run to the market; she had run out of a few crucial herbs and spices. "Toby!" she snapped her fingers. "Show these _gentlemen_…"—she put a sarcastic emphasis on the word—"…out after you put those away, would you?"

"Right, Mum!" Toby called, hurrying to return his purchases to the kitchen. After he returned from that errand, he ordered the men who had been bothering Mrs. Lovett to go, and they left, grumbling.

"Bastards," Nellie muttered as she stormed back to the kitchen, Mr. Todd following her. "Not listenin' to me just 'cause I bleed once a month and wear dresses…"

"Nellie, that was…unnecessary," said Sweeney, mildly startled by her choice of words. (She had started asking him to call her Nellie. Occasionally he honored that wish.)

"Well, I'm bloomin' angry! You saw the way they left when Toby told 'em to. They wouldn't obey me just 'cause I'm a woman. It ain't fair. And why can't I be vulgar? It makes me feel better. Ain't nothin' for a man to be crude, and bloody 'ell, I was supportin' meself without a man for years—ain't I earned the right to be vulgar when I'm angry?"

Sweeney came far too close to saying "Lucy would have never said that."

She sighed. "But thanks for your 'elp, dear."

"You're welcome."

And so it went. Mr. Todd began closing the tonsorial parlor on the slowest days of the week (Tuesday and Thursday) and staying in his neighbor's shop rather than remaining upstairs with the ghosts of his memories. He wasn't much help—Nellie and Toby had everything under control—but he would occasionally have to dissuade the newer uncouth customers from bothering Mrs. Lovett. She had established a new policy that only a certain number of alcoholic drinks would be sold to any given customer, so the impudent men who "admired" Nellie's scars were easier to deal with when they were more sober.

The increasing amount of time Sweeney was spending around Nellie made her bolder, as in, more likely to say what she was thinking, and more likely to plant a kiss on his cheek if he did something helpful. There was one particularly grueling day upon which Toby had come down with the sniffles, and Nellie had to do almost all the work herself. Sweeney had taken on more responsibility than she had expected, and when the pie shop closed, she came up to him and thanked him verbally before taking his hand, kissing it, and pressing his palm to her cheek. He would have made a comment like "Would you be so kind as to give me my hand back?" and pulled away except that he noticed that he could feel the thin raised scars on her face; she'd chosen to place his hand on the cheek that bore the thin, slanted X-shape where two cuts had crossed. So instead of drawing back, he curled his hand into a half-fist and traced both scars with the pad of his thumb, examining his handiwork. The scars were slim and very straight, and had faded to white. Nellie closed her eyes while he did this, and it struck him as incredibly strange that she was enjoying him touching scars _that he'd given her_. In retrospect, it hadn't been necessary to cut her. Then again…in a way, they suited her. They were fascinating to look at, because sometimes they blended into Nellie's pale complexion, and in certain slants of light they stood out, livid, clashing with the natural lines of her face. As he mused, he reached with his other hand to trace the scars on her forehead, and the long one that ran from cheekbone to chin. The way the scars were angled, so sharply and unnaturally, somehow drew attention to how balanced her features were and, despite his original intention when cutting her, made her somewhat pretty. They were a constant reminder of how she had been damaged, not too much, but just enough to make her unflagging energy productive and bearable. Then again, he thought as he took his hands away from Nellie's face, every time he watched her work with that rolling pin, he remembered it slamming into his shoulder—or the head of the robber who had raped her—and was reminded that she was hurt, but not broken. The two memory cues balanced each other out.

Not every situation improved. Nellie's nightmares had decreased in number at first, but she was starting to have them again, twice or thrice a week, by Mr. Todd's reckoning. The new nightmares were not about her murder of the Judge; usually when she woke up from them, she panicked at the sight of Sweeney, telling him she was sorry, begging him not to hurt her (or threatening to get her rolling pin if he came any closer). When he asked her what she was apologizing for, the answer was always something like "whatever I've done wrong." Later, she would always refuse to tell him what she had dreamed about. Sometimes, he could gather the gist of the dream from her frightened responses to his trying to calm her down: that he was angry at her, and she didn't know why; all she knew was that he wanted to kill her. Only in one nightmare had she actually known why the dream-Sweeney was angry. In that dream, he had attacked her for trying to kiss him on the mouth, and had actually succeeded in killing her. After that dream woke her, she kept running her hand over her throat, reassuring herself that it was intact.

Remaining true to what was now a habit, Mr. Todd tended to focus on what Nellie was doing for him, not what he was doing (or not doing) for her. It was a seemingly insignificant circumstance that got him to change his perspective. On one particular night, Sweeney had closed up his tonsorial parlor earlier than usual, and he was all dressed in his nightclothes and ready to sleep before Nellie had even finished cleaning her shop. He had walked halfway down the stairs when he paused to watch her, as he had done several times before, like the first time he had seen her cut her own arm. She was walking about with her usual liveliness, scrubbing at the counter, stacking bowls and measuring utensils, sliding knives into open drawers and banging the drawers closed with a hip or elbow. Yet something was…off. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong. She used to do everything in impossible syncopated rhythm, as if she had a complicated metronome-like mechanism for a heart. But now that rhythm was gone, or at least disrupted; she would hesitate, falter, or make a strange, tired pause that implied that she was about to collapse. The odd hesitations were barely noticeable among her normal energetic patterns, but Sweeney saw them, and the more closely he looked the more he could see how shaken she looked, as if it took all her strength and concentration not to fly to pieces. Between that and her new tame hairstyle, she looked almost like a different person.

Almost like Lucy.

The thought disturbed Sweeney so much that he immediately tried to negate it. She wasn't like Lucy at all. Lucy had gone mad because she had taken poison. Nellie was not sane—she'd never been—but she was still lucid, not completely changed by her trauma the way Lucy had been. And yet the more Sweeney tried to deny the similarities between Lucy's situation and Nellie's, the more he saw: Nellie had been separated from someone she loved (not by a physical distance, but an emotional one), she had been raped, she had been driven to hurting herself (even if she didn't realize it)…she had been put through much of the same hell Lucy had experienced. But still, there were differences, right? Lucy had been destroyed by Judge Turpin, and it had been Sweeney who caused Nellie's distress. But that made Sweeney like…

No. No, he could not be like Judge Turpin. He could not have any horrible thing in common with the man he had set out to kill. Even if there were any similarities, Judge Turpin was far, far worse. Sweeney hadn't raped Nellie. Yet even as he thought that, he remembered standing on the very step where he was now, watching dispassionately as one of the men robbing Nellie's pie shop had pinned her to the floor and ripped the clothes from her despite her vain attempts to defend herself. He may not have been the one who hurt Nellie, but he had let it happen to her…because he had worried that if he helped, she would have thought he had feelings for her. Had he really been so…cold? Nobody deserved what Nellie had gone through, not even her. Oh, he still believed all humans deserved to die; but they deserved to be snuffed out quickly so as to either be spared the pain of living or be prevented from hurting others. But what had happened to Lucy and Nellie…no, no woman deserved to suffer like that.

He proceeded the rest of the way down the stairs.

"Evenin', dear," said Nellie distractedly when she saw him. "You'll 'ave to wait a bit for me; I only just finished cleanin' up. Sorry about that…you can just stay out 'ere while I change…" She headed for her bedroom.

"Wait."

She looked up at him, brow furrowed with puzzlement. "You want me to make you some tea?"

"No. Let me see your face."

She rolled her eyes and turned away. "I know, I know. It's ugly. But that's partly your fault, if you'll recall."

"No…" He caught her by the arm, and she gave him a bewildered look. He stood close enough to her that he could run his fingertips over her scars, the way he had done once before, except the last time he hadn't explained why. Also, the last time he had touched her scarred face, he had been thinking of how the scars were like an externalization of the pain she'd gone through recently. He hadn't thought of how she never tried to hide the scars with powder, and how it hadn't seemed to bother her when she lost customers because some of them didn't want to look at her face. He remembered thinking that she was pretty even with the scars, but he was beginning to wonder if that was because she might have been pretty before he'd cut her (he didn't recall; he had never looked at her that closely) or because she acted as if the scars didn't make her unbeautiful.

He traced each scar with a fingertip. She watched his face, obviously trying not to relax and enjoy the touch. "I was tryin' to keep you from bein' beautiful when I cut you."

"I know. You thought I was jealous of your Lucy bein' beautiful."

He slid the hand that had been touching her scars to the back of her neck. "I think I failed." His fingers tightened on the sensitive flesh and for a moment Nellie was frightened, but when Sweeney pulled her nearer to him and kissed her hard, she completely forgot her fear. In fact, she forgot almost everything. She flinched a little from sheer surprise, but within seconds her arms were around him and she was kissing him back. Her hands moved up his back, exploring and kneading.

The kiss came to a natural end and she stared at him, dumbfounded, but his was expression was inscrutable as always, so she pressed herself to him with her head tucked beneath his chin, hooking her hands over his shoulders. His arms circled her so tightly she almost gasped for air.

He could tell himself over and over that she wasn't Lucy, but that wouldn't change how good she felt wrapped in his arms. She was warm, startlingly so, and her fingers made little circles on his shoulders, something he had discovered he enjoyed immensely back when she started giving him neck massages to help him sleep. When he and Lucy had embraced, they had always done so gently, slowly, almost shyly, never savoring it too much because they believed that they would always be together, that there would be another embrace, another day. Nellie was holding on to him like there was no tomorrow. He tilted his head down so his face was half-buried in her hair. It smelled quite pleasant, now that she was putting more effort into keeping it clean. He could also smell the perfume she wore, likely to cover the stenches from the bakehouse that were sure to cling to her after she spent so much time there. He found himself with a mental image of Nellie crushing petals from a violet against her neck and wrists.

He didn't particularly feel like letting her go, and she certainly wasn't going to pull away from him. As such, their first proper embrace ended up being rather long. But eventually, Nellie whispered, "We should sleep, but I don't wan'na let go of you."

"I can hold you while you sleep."

She tilted her head back to look at him, startled. He was a bit startled himself; his mouth had uttered that sentence without any consent from his brain. Still, he wasn't opposed to the idea. "But Mr. T…that's beyond improper!"

"Sometimes I don't understand you. You cut up human bodies to bake into pies, and you're worried about propriety? Besides, I've been sleepin' in your bedchamber for a month or two now, and that's already improper enough. You want me to stay with you, don't you?"

Nellie laughed. "You've no idea, dear."

"Then it's settled. Go change into your nightdress."

She went. Sweeney waited in front of the closed door until she opened it, then darted close to him for a quick hug. He frowned when she let go of him. "You don't need this." He took the sleeve of her dressing gown between two fingers. "Don't you only wear a dressing gown if you're leavin' your bedroom?"

"Well…technically, yeah, but I thought it'd be a bit less improper if…"

"For heaven's sake…" He stepped into Nellie's room and closed the door. "It's not like you'll be completely unclad."

She blushed darkly. "All right." She unbuttoned her dressing gown and hung it in her bedpost, standing in just her white nightdress. Sweeney presumed she was still blushing, because she wouldn't look at him as she clambered into her bed. But when he walked over to her, she held her arms out to him, and he climbed onto the mattress and tucked her beneath his arm while she pulled the covers over them with one hand.

He rather liked holding her while she was in her nightgown, he decided. It felt…softer, more natural, like he could simply hold Nellie instead of having to half-convince himself she was actually there somewhere underneath all the layers of stiff dress cloth. She nuzzled closer to him, fisting one hand in the fabric of his nightshirt.

There was a sharp rap on the door. "Mum?" It was Toby, sounding a bit panicked. Nellie, of course, was still awake, but she was in a state about as close as she would ever get to heaven and did not hear him.

"Nellie." Sweeney shook her lightly. "The boy wants you."

Nellie stirred and looked up at him. "All right," she said groggily, as if she'd just woken from a heavy sleep. There was a rather comically blissful smile on her face. Sweeney didn't know whether to be unsettled or flattered that she was so affected by curling up close to him. "I'll be back in a moment." She pecked him on the cheek and got up. Toby was waiting for her outside, looking alarmed.

"Mum, you shouldn't let Mr. Todd stay in yer room, not while you're sleepin'! What if 'e 'urts you while you're asleep?"

"Toby, what're you doin' out of bed?" Nellie rubbed her eyes. She'd come very close to falling into some kind of trance, or at least falling asleep, while she was lying next to Sweeney.

"I just…I felt like somefin' was wrong, so I got up and I saw…I saw Mr. Todd kiss you!" From his tone, he sounded more like he'd seen Mr. Todd stab Nellie through the chest than kiss her.

"There somethin' wrong with Mr. Todd givin' me a kiss, dear?"

"I don't trust 'im! 'ow do you know 'e meant it? 'ow do you know 'e ain't plannin' somefin' awful?"

"Toby…" Nellie stroked her son's cheek. "If Mr. T. wanted to 'urt me while I was sleepin', 'e would've done it earlier. I asked 'im to sleep in me room weeks ago to 'elp keep away the nightmares."

"What!?" he cried, his eyes widening. "You've been lettin' 'im sleep in yer room for weeks?"

"Eh, well, Mr. T.'s startin' to feel bad for all the nasty things 'e's done to me." Nellie tried to shrug off Toby's concern. "We've been gettin' along lately. I really doubt 'e's got any plans to 'urt me now."

"I still don't trust 'im," Toby muttered. "You could've asked me to stay with you, since I'm yer son and all…wouldn't've been so…"

Nellie wondered if _improper _was the word her son was searching for or if he was still thinking something worse about Sweeney being in her room while she was asleep. "Don't worry your sweet little 'ead, love."

"I can't 'elp it. Not after all the terrible things 'e did to you!"

"Oh, Toby, you're too young to be worryin' about such weighty things as protectin' women. Wait 'til you're grown and find a nice girl to look after." Suddenly it struck her that Toby was reaching that age at which he should have been interested in girls already, yet he hadn't shown any signs of the first shy, youthful inklings of love. Come to think of it, he was never around any girls, so how could he have developed an interest? Nellie found herself hoping that Toby's devotion to her didn't keep him from growing up normally. "I can take care of meself, dear. You ought'a be spendin' more time with other boys and girls your age, 'stead of stayin' in the pie shop all the time. Find yourself some friends, or…well, you're about old enough to find a nice girl now, ain't you?"

Toby said nothing.

"Why don't you go back to sleep, dear? If you don't believe Mr. Todd don't wan'na 'urt me, at least think that 'e'd be up a creek without me, 'cause 'e'd 'ave no place to stay. And 'e knows that."

The boy nodded. "All right, Mum."

Nellie kissed him. "Good night, son."

"'Night, Mum. You…you sure you'll be all right?"

"Absolutely sure, dear. Now, sweet dreams!" Nellie hastened back to her room, where Mr. Todd was still awake, waiting for her.

"Did he think I was plottin' to kill you?"

"Yeah." Nellie knelt on the edge of the bed.

"Do you think he's right?"

"What?" The question caught her off-guard.

"Do you trust me?"

She avoided looking at him. "I wan'na trust you. But at this point, the thing that's keepin' me from bein' afraid is the fact that you ain't gon'na kill me 'cause you want a place to stay and somebody to cook meals for you."

"Do you really think that's all I want?"

Nellie closed her eyes. "Are you toyin' with me? After all you've done to convince me that's all you want, why're you tryin' to get me 'opes up again? I know you ain't plannin' on killin' me, but are you gon'na give me more scars the second you convince me you actually care about me? 'Cause I know 'ow much you like me scars. They're the only reason I'm pretty, right?"

"For heaven's sake, calm down. You get upset far too easily." He sat up and took her by the wrists, pulling her to him. She lay down with her head on his chest, once again being the one to pull the covers over them. It was incredibly soothing, lying there listening to his heart. And somehow the heartbeat solidified in her mind the fact that she would sleep in Sweeney Todd's arms that night; she could scarcely believe it. She felt his hand trace the lines of her back, hesitantly, as if he too wondered if their current situation was a dream. At one point not too long ago, it would have been a nightmare for him.

"Mr. T.? Why'd you offer to 'old me like this?"

He didn't reply at first, and Nellie soon gave up on getting a response; she nearly started when he finally said, "I don't know."

Hopefully that meant he had quite wanted to sleep beside her like this and simply didn't want to admit it. She didn't press the issue. Instead, she turned her head and kissed his chest right where she felt his heartbeat most strongly. "Good night, love."

"What the hell was that?"

"What?"

"Did you just kiss me?"

"Yeah."

"_Why?_"

"I dunno, I just…wanted to give your 'eart a little kiss, I suppose."

He made a sound of distaste in the back of his throat. "You are so bloody strange."

"I'm sorry." She tightened her grip on him, as if that could really keep him there if he had any intention of leaving. "I won't do it again, sweet, I promise!"

"Calm yourself. Just go to sleep."

"All right." She settled comfortably against his chest, pressing her ear to his heart again. "'Night, dear."

"Good night, Nellie."

She was asleep within seconds. Sweeney lay awake for longer, listening to the silence. He had noticed before that Nellie was an unmoving and quiet sleeper. He had never been able to hold Lucy when he slept in bed with her, because she tended to move quite a bit in her sleep. Lucy had also snored lightly, which Benjamin had found adorable. But Sweeney found himself enjoying Nellie's utter stillness. The only sign that she was alive was the slight, steady expansion and deflation of her ribcage, which he could feel quite well with his hand resting on her back. It was strange, almost too strange to be pleasant, to be so close to another's body after going fifteen years without the touch of a woman. Not to mention there was something incredibly intimate—in a purely platonic sense, of course—about sleeping in another's bed. Sleep was a time of vulnerability. Sweeney Todd had learned this all too well in prison and had learned to wake up at the slightest disturbance lest it be a sign of danger. He had nothing to fear from Nellie, this strong yet desperate woman who yearned so greatly for his approval (it seemed like she had given up hope on anything more). She was the one who should be afraid. The boy was right that it would be a simple matter to kill Nellie while she slept. Yet she wanted him near her so badly that she was willing to take the risk. Either she cared little for her own life as long as she died happily slumbering next to him, or she truly believed he wasn't going to kill her. He began tracing her shoulder blades with his hand again, re-learning the geometry and structure of a human body, feeling her shift unconsciously, agreeably, at the touch. No, he didn't want to kill her. He wanted the body he was holding to stay full of life and energy, couldn't imagine it stiff and inert. He wanted her to stay warm and breathing and close to him, reminding him that he was human, pressed close enough against him that he could feel her heart's steady thump and be reminded that he too had a red and pulsing heart. He was not only a killing machine; he was a flesh and blood being who was all too capable of sensing the close presence of another flesh and blood being. It was odd to need a reminder that he was alive, but there was that reminder, her breath fluttering the loose cloth of his nightshirt, her ribs and spine and muscles firm beneath his hand.

In the morning, he would vaguely recall whispering "Nellie, you're a wonder" into the limpid air before sleeping, but he would not remember whether or not that had been in a dream.

* * *

It was nearly a month before Toby stopped worrying that Sweeney was going to kill Nellie during the night. Despite the fact that Nellie was trying to get him to spend more time with people his age instead of being concerned about her, he seemed nervous whenever he was reminded of the fact that Nellie allowed Sweeney to sleep near her. It was only when Sweeney himself assured Toby (albeit very succinctly) that he had no intention of hurting Mrs. Lovett that the boy seemed mollified.

In the meantime, Sweeney surprised himself by not getting sick of sleeping close to Nellie every night. He had expected it to become awkward after that one extraordinary night when he had kissed her. In fact, many times during the day he might tell himself, "tonight I'll sleep on the floor again," but whatever his intentions may have been when he walked into Nellie's room each night, he always found himself lying next to her again, and she would curl up against him. And then he would tell himself that he only allowed her to do that because she kept him warm, and while she was there, he might as well try to enjoy it, right? So every day, he watched Nellie as she worked, thinking of her as a personality, a chaotic, energetic force of nature, and every night, she was that force wrapped in warm skin and flesh, a pair of surprisingly powerful shoulders and a gently curving spine beneath a thick cotton nightdress. Each morning, his memories of the previous night were gone, forced from his mind, so each evening he had the excuse of rediscovering them. He was always surprised at how much strength there was in her small frame; Lucy, he almost remembered, had been delicate, and Benjamin Barker had always been exquisitely careful with her, as if he were afraid she might break. Nellie had a working woman's body; not beautiful, but sturdy. For all her coarseness, she was a comforting, mild creature in repose, always wanting to be close to him, but nothing more; he would have expected her to cling to him and paw at him rudely, but either she was too afraid to do that or their platonic closeness was enough for her. When he lay on his back, she half-draped herself over him and laid her cheek on his chest, and when he lay on his side, and she would tuck her head under his chin, their bodies framing the empty space between them like parentheses surrounding an unanswered question. She must have been awake one night when he was touching her, because she started wearing her nightdresses backwards so he could undo the first few buttons and gain better access to her back. Once he would have thought her whorish for such a behavior, but now they were both keenly aware that he felt no desire for her and never would, so the fact that he was allowed to undo a few buttons on her nightgown meant nothing much.

During the daylight hours, Sweeney couldn't believe he had kissed her. At night, when the moonlight streamed through the window and turned Nellie's pasty white skin an intriguing delicate silver-blue and betrayed its softness to him, he wanted to kiss her again. Sometimes thoughts of the one kiss they had shared entered his thoughts while he dwelled on how what little he knew of Nellie's body fit her personality, and how Benjamin's body had also changed with his transformation into Sweeney Todd, growing wiry and scarred during his time in Botany Bay. Both he and Nellie had been changed, and it showed.

She almost never had nightmares after he started sleeping in her bed. Only on one night did she wake with a start not long after she had fallen asleep; he had not slept yet and was in the process of tracing her waist with the fingertips of one hand. She looked up at him, and he gave her a stony expression that did not match his inner panic at all. She whispered to him, "Don't stop. Please? It's…soothing." So he ran his hand over her back in long strokes, and it put her back to sleep almost instantly. He had forgotten what it felt like to be able to comfort someone, to see that he had helped somebody and take pride and pleasure in that. Yes, he was glad that he could help Nellie fall asleep.

At first it seemed like Sweeney's relationship with Nellie could only be something other than business or tentative friendship under the cover of darkness. But soon, whatever Sweeney felt for Nellie while she slept with her head pressed to his heart began bleeding into the daytime. He started remembering the nights better, being able to watch Nellie loosen the strings on her corset after carelessly lacing them too tightly that morning and know that her spine was not naturally that straight.

On one particular night, he was gazing out the tonsorial parlor window, fuming silently at the people squirming through the streets like ants, wondering why any of them even bothered to continue breathing. It was something he used to muse on more than he did now; mostly, he stayed away from the window. But he had had a slow day, while Mrs. Lovett's pie shop had been so busy she'd barely had time to say two words to him, so he was occupying himself by brooding and fiddling with his razor. When he heard footsteps behind him, his temper flared; not as intensely as it used to, but he felt that old thirst, that desire to see blood gushing from a slashed throat that still sometimes plagued him due to pure habit. Almost without looking, he swung at the intruder, the blade flashing as it hissed through the air. As he swung, he turned to watch the result, and nearly fell straight over backward when he saw Nellie's shocked face, her hand flying to her throat. He barely had time to cry out and reach for her before he realized that she had had either the presence of mind or the reflexes to flinch, and the razor had just barely grazed her neck. "Nellie—God—are you all right?"

Her shaking fingertips came away from the wound tinted red. "Ain't much blood there…yeah…I'm…I'm fine, you just gave me a bit of a fright, is all."

He meant to say "I'm sorry," but what came out was "I nearly killed you."

"Eh, well…" she wiped the blood on her skirt. "When I saw you playin' with that razor, I sort'a…readied meself for you to swing at me. I thought you was in one of your angry moods today."

"And how are you so…indifferent about this?"

"'Cause I know it'll be that razor that gets me one day, I suppose." She shrugged.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Well, 'ow long do you think this is gon'na last?"

He did not know what to say, so she continued.

"Do you like me, Sweeney? Do you enjoy bein' around me and sleepin' next to me at night? And if you wan'na say somethin' to the effect of 'yes,' please don't bloomin' say 'of course.' Every time you've said that to me, it's been a lie."

He told the truth. "Yes."

"So do you think that's gonna stay the way it is, or will you get sick of me one day? Or maybe you'll just lose your temper. Or maybe this will 'appen again and I won't be quick enough."

"Stop." He stepped forward and took her face in his hands, so abruptly she almost flinched again. "This won't happen again."

Sweeney Todd could be a suave, glib conversationalist when it came to customers, or anyone he was trying to manipulate. But when it came to voicing what he actually felt, he was hopeless. So his apology to Nellie took the form of several kisses, one at each intersection of two scars, then the corner of her mouth that was crossed by the longest scar. For a moment he thought she was going to turn her head and kiss him, but she shied away at the last second. Briefly he considered how strange it was that she wouldn't hesitate to peck him on the cheek or forehead, but she hadn't yet found the courage to kiss him on the mouth.

"You don't 'ave to convince me of anythin', dear." She slid her hands up to the back of his neck, linking her fingers. He laid his hands on her waist and they touched foreheads. "It don't matter that it ain't safe to sleep in your arms. I'd still rather sleep there than anyone else. Besides, if anyone's gon'na kill me, I'd like it to be you, 'cause at least you'd be the last thing I see."

"What's the matter with you? That's a terrible thing to say."

"Really? I think it's romantic. Though I suppose if you've stopped likin' the idea of killin' me, if you ever want me dead, I could take care of it meself. I still got Albert's old pistol…maybe I could scratch your name on the bullet so you'd be the last thing goin' through me 'ead."

"_Nellie!_" He stepped away from her with an appalled expression on his face.

"What? I'm only jokin'! Would you rather I panic 'cause you nearly slit me gullet just now or joke about it? If you can think of a better way for me to deal with bein' afraid you'll be the death of me, I'd like to know."

"Don't be morbid. It doesn't…it doesn't suit you."

"It don't suit me?" She laughed. "Bein' morbid don't suit me? First of all, I ain't bein' morbid. I'm bein' practical. I can try to get you to treat me nice-like all I want, and maybe I can 'elp you feel less angry all the time—I know I can—but I won't be able to stop you that one time you want me dead. Poor Toby, 'e's finally convinced you ain't gon'na hurt me…maybe that boy and I've switched opinions. But second of all, 'ow long you been payin' attention to me, 'ow I act, who I am? A month? Maybe a bit more? And I've been meself for years, so really ain't it up to me to decide what suits me and what don't?"

"I remember you used to be so bloody happy all the time it made me itch."

"Look at me now, eh?" She smiled crookedly.

"You're still you. You're just less…obnoxious."

"Am I? You think I shouldn't start changin' me name and killin' scads of people? No, I suppose one of us doin' that is enough."

"Nellie…"

"You're glad I'm different, ain't you?"

"Yes."

"Sweeney, I know you 'ave trouble rememberin' when you were Benjamin, and I'm always tryin' to keep you from it 'cause I know it pains you, but…did Benjamin like me? Just a little?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I guess…'e was always nice enough to me. More'n any of me other neighbors. Always took the time to say good mornin' and the like."

He did remember. Benjamin Barker had found Nellie Lovett nice enough, but overbearing, slightly irritating, a little too eccentric. "Not really."

"Hm. So not even sweet Benjamin Barker cared about me before."

Again, he did not know what to say. He wondered if maybe he should have lied.

"This is the part where you say 'Nobody could've cared about you before,'" she prompted.

"Why would I say that?"

"Don't it sound like somethin' you'd say?"

"Somethin' I might have said once. Not now."

"Eh, well…you'd not be too far from the truth, and it seems like you've actually been truthful to me lately…maybe that's why I thought you'd say it." She smiled bitterly, the scarred corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

Sweeney could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He knew Nellie wasn't quite as gratingly happy as she used to be, but he'd never expected… "What the hell are you talking about?"

Nellie shrugged. "I was the youngest of nine. Me parents just…were done with carin' for their children by the time I came along. They didn't even bother to name me properly. Me brothers were Sebastian, Deveron, Braxton, and Leander, and me sisters were Christabel, Evangeline, Octavia, and Rosalind." She counted them off on her fingers to make sure she got all eight. "'Nellie' ain't even short for 'Eleanor;' me parents just got lazy after all that fine child-namin' they'd done before, and they called me 'Nell,' like I weren't worth more than one little sound."

Sweeney could hear that she sounded more angry than mournful. Not surprising, considering that she wasn't someone who would not be treated contemptuously without a fight. So that was why she'd once gotten nearly as angry at him calling her "Nell" as he had when she'd tried to call him "Benjamin" just after his return. "What about your first husband?"

"Albert liked me well enough, I suppose, but 'e was a family friend, married me out'a pity 'cause no other man would have me, me bein' poor and barren."

"You're barren?"

She nodded. "I 'ad a bad fever when I was nineteen. We couldn't afford a doctor, and me family thought I was gon'na die, but I got better. But by that time the fever 'ad, you know, ate up me insides."

For the first time, the barber found himself wishing he hadn't lost so many of his conversational skills when he was in Australia. "Toby loves you." Maybe the thought that she still had a son despite her condition would comfort her a bit.

"Yeah, 'e does, poor boy. But 'e would've clung to anybody after 'ow that dreadful Italian treated 'im. I always knew nobody loved me. The only thing that's different about me now is that I've given up 'ope on that ever changin'."

He reached for her again, pulling her into a crushing embrace. "Don't talk like that."

"You're right—it ain't like me, is it?"

"No." He felt her hands sliding up her back, fingertips rubbing little circles on his shoulders. Maybe someday he would work up the courage to actually ask her to do that rather than hoping for it. He was starting to think that habit was the only reason he still tried to discourage her from being affectionate…or thinking he cared about her.

"Suppose you just caught me in a melancholy mood."

"You. Melancholy. When was the last time you were in a melancholy mood?"

She laughed, but this time the laugh was more sincere, more Nellie. "Likely when I was seven and me miserable twin sisters convinced me oldest brother to lock me in the root cellar for the whole night."

"Little whorelings."

Nellie giggled into his shoulder. "And 'ow did you know that's 'ow they ended up?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Last I 'eard, men were payin' quite a pretty penny to get 'em both at once."

Sweeney couldn't help but snicker.

They held each other in silence for a while, Sweeney thinking about how perhaps he could tell her that night that since she so enjoyed him running his hand over her back while she slept, she owed him a back-rub in return. Just as long as she was gentler with him than she was with the pie dough.

"Sweeney?"

"Hm?"

"I'll be makin' a trip to the market tomorrow. Do you wan'na come with me?"

He had no problem with being with Nellie, but what he did have a problem with was the idea of being at the market. Any place that was always thronged with massive amounts of people was a place he would have liked to avoid.

"I was just thinkin'…the Beadle often goes to market, just to, you know, mingle with the common folk; obviously 'e don't do much shoppin' 'imself, 'cause 'e'd be leavin' that to 'is servants. But I ain't seen 'im there for a while, so it's high time 'e showed up again, and if 'e's there tomorrow, maybe you could remind 'im that 'e's still got a free shave outstandin'."

"Hm."

"Does that mean yes? Or were you not listenin'?"

"I don't want to be around all those…_people_." He spat out the last word like an expletive. "But…it's a good idea."

"All right." Nellie sounded obviously disappointed. "If I see the Beadle, I'll remind 'im, then."

"Or I could just ask you to dispatch the Beadle for me."

He felt her shudder. "Don't ask me to do that!"

"What? I was only jokin', pet."

She groaned and playfully bit his shoulder. "You can be such a bastard."

* * *

Nellie was as good as her word; she conveniently ran into Beadle Bamford the following day at the market, and that afternoon he paid a visit to Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor. He did indeed receive the closest shave he had ever known. Sweeney did get a bit more satisfaction that usual from slicing the keen blade of the razor through the Beadle's neck, but it was a pale echo of the fierce pleasure he used to get out of a kill. The Beadle had paid for his part in what had been done to destroy Benjamin Barker's life, but he would be replaced by someone just as corrupt.

Nellie remarked on Sweeney's latest victim that night. "I see you got the Beadle," she said as she laid her head on his chest.

"Yes." It occurred to him that she was the reason the Beadle had gotten to the barbershop and she was probably searching for thanks. "Thank you."

"Anythin' for you, dear."

He knew she meant that. He was lucky, he supposed, that she was so devoted to him, especially after what he had put her through. He had once thought she had a heart of stone, but she didn't, really; she just cared absolutely nothing for anyone but him because her entire capacity for love was devoted to him, and perhaps Toby. How else could she love him after all he'd put her through? Well, obviously she was mad, but maybe her inability to love anyone but him was the source of her madness.

She sighed happily. "I wish I could sleep in your arms like this every night for the rest of me life." He felt her tense slightly, as if she hadn't quite intended to make such a comment and expected a violent response. "But…of course it's all right if that ain't what you want," she added in a very small voice.

He thought about Nellie's latest suggestion while she drifted off to sleep. They could be together for the rest of their lives. For some reason, it seemed like another one of her good ideas. Well, it made sense, didn't it?

* * *

A/N: Oh boy. Sweeney thinks that being with Nellie for the rest of their lives is a good idea. I wonder where this is heading…?

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	10. Guilt

Blade of Madness

Chapter Ten: Guilt

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, Sweenett

Author's Notes: Sweeney grows a conscience.

* * *

What had seemed like a good idea under the cover of darkness seemed more like a way to make Nellie insufferably happy again after the sun rose, and when he woke he found himself almost embarrassed to have responded so positively—albeit mentally—to Nellie's comment that she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life. He scolded himself, thinking that the idea he'd come up with in response to what Nellie had said was just a way to make her insufferably happy again. But a part of him knew that she would have to somehow return to her old self to be jovial to the point of obnoxiousness, and that was slightly less likely than Sweeney becoming Benjamin Barker again. So he tried to ignore his new idea, but it stuck in the back of his mind and, over the course of the day, irritated him the way a pebble in one's shoe can worry one's foot. It really did make quite a bit of sense; they already shared most everything, so it made sense if legally all their property belonged to them as a unit. Also, Sweeney wasn't planning on leaving Nellie any time soon, and truthfully, he had no intention of doing so at any point in time. Not to mention Sweeney was fairly sure Nellie wanted to marry him, or at least had wanted that at some point, despite the fact that she'd never voiced it. She loved him, certainly, and he…well, he was becoming increasingly fond of holding Nellie while she slept, and he had begun frequently talking himself out of kissing her; the excuses were getting weaker and the impulse was getting stronger. He had also started avoiding watching her clean up the pie shop at night, because that was when she put the least effort into appearing her jaunty, vigorous "self" and it upset him to see the damage he'd caused her. He liked her well enough, he supposed…

Approximately twenty-four hours after Nellie had mentioned that she wanted to sleep in his arms every night, she was in that exact place again, pretending to be asleep so she could feel him stroking her back. (He was fairly sure they both had been trying to stay awake later in order to enjoy one another's company for a longer period of time). They were going to sleep like that every night; was there really any reason why he couldn't promise her that? She needed as much reassurance as possible after the efforts he'd made to convince her he hated her. And she was doing a damn good job taking care of him; he might as well let her know he noticed that. Granted, he hadn't been noticing it for very long, but that revelation had also caused him to realize that she'd been taking care of him ever since he'd gotten back from Australia.

She stirred a little as his thumb traced a circle in the small of her back. That was usually a good indicator of whether or not she was awake; she loved it when he touched her lower back, so much so that she couldn't keep still even if she were pretending to be asleep. "Nellie."

Nellie looked up at him, almost guiltily. "You can't really expect me to sleep while you're doin' that, love."

"And you can't really expect me to believe you're asleep."

"You got me," she smiled.

Sweeney realized he hadn't exactly planned what to say once he "woke" Nellie, so he simply uttered the first thing that came to mind. "What was it that you said last night?"

"What, when I said you'd got the Beadle?"

Her tone was far too innocent for her to actually think he was referring to that.

"No, the last thing you said before you fell asleep."

"Oh, that. Just…well, I thought it'd be nice if I could spend every night sleepin' close to you like this…you know, for…the rest of me life." She looked at him warily. "Which…ain't gon'na be that long if I keep sayin' things like that, I'd wager."

Month ago, she had so candidly admitted that he loved him, and now she couldn't say that she wanted an existing circumstance between them to continue without being afraid for her life. He supposed he couldn't blame her, but…

"I mean, it does 'elp keep the nightmares away, and you don't really seem to mind, but if you ever wan'na go back to sleepin' upstairs…" she was babbling, taking his silence as a bad sign.

"Nellie, would you calm yourself?"

She was quiet.

"Do you think I'd be doin' this if I didn't like havin' you here?" His hand trailed along her spine—awkwardly, since Sweeney Todd was hopelessly unskilled in the art of comforting—and her eyes lit up.

"Do you mean that? You…like me sleepin' 'ere with you?"

He nearly said "of course," but then he remembered what she thought of that phrase. "Yes. Didn't I tell you that before, on that day when I almost…?" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Killed me? Yeah, now that you mention it, I think you did, but I ain't sure I completely believed you."

"So you want me to stay with you every night, indefinitely."

"I'd like that," she whispered. Her tone betrayed just how happy that would make her. "'Cause I just…wan'na be near you. As much as possible. For as long as possible." She averted her eyes, as if embarrassed or afraid of his reaction.

"I know." He began running his hand down her back again, and she laid her head back down with a contented sigh. "I thought this helped you sleep."

"Yeah, it's right soothing, but it also feels good, so I try to stay awake and enjoy it."

"Should I stop?"

"No. Please don't."

Nellie did sleep after a short time; Sweeney was now fairly competent at telling when she was feigning sleep and when she was actually sleeping.

It would mean the world to her if she knew he wanted the two of them to be together. That much was apparent. If she was so pleased with the idea that Sweeney would be sleeping in her bed—platonically, no less—each night for the rest of her life, he could only imagine how happy he could make her if he promised her more.

Now if only he could get up the courage…

* * *

The following day, Sweeney tried not to think too much about what he was getting into. He kept telling himself that all he needed to consider was the fact that he was both reassuring Nellie that he would stay with her and rewarding her for her unshakable devotion. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision if one had ever been made, but then again, he was making up for the time he'd spent oblivious to Nellie's feelings for him.

She looked at him oddly when he said he had something he needed to buy, since she always ran his errands for him, but she made no inconvenient queries that would have been difficult to answer. His errand apparently took longer than she expected, because when he returned, she asked him: "Where the bloomin' 'ell you been?"

"Out."

"I know that! What took you so long? You been cavortin' with them dirty whores down by the docks or somethin'?"

Sweeney started at the suggestion. "Dear God, no—I thought you knew me better than that."

"I didn't really think that's what you were up to, I'm just a bit cross you been gone for hours durin' the supper rush—and on a day you usually 'elp me!" she snapped.

"It was important. I had trouble…findin' the right one."

"Findin' the right _what_?"

He cleared his throat. "Er…you'll see."

She rolled her eyes. "I better, what with you bein' gone so long. Give me a 'and with these dishes, will you?"

Sweeney's heart pounded madly for the rest of the evening, and he had the odd feeling it was trying to climb into his throat. He'd practiced what he was going to say to her, but he knew he was terrible with words when it came to kindness or sincerity, so he still felt nervous as a mouse creeping past a sleeping cat. It didn't help that Nellie kept glaring at him every time a dish nearly slipped out of his sweat-damp hands.

He was placing utensils in their drawers when Nellie switched the "open" sign on the pie shop's door over to the "closed" side. "Are you gon'na tell me what you were up to this afternoon?" There was still a bit of an edge to her voice.

Sweeney swallowed past the lump in his throat and came out from behind the counter. "Come here."

She did, standing before him with her arms crossed, looking mildly confrontational.

"Could you…not be angry?"

She snorted. "I think you seen me angry, dear, and this ain't angry."

"This would go so much more smoothly if you were in a better mood…" he mumbled, half to himself.

"Sweeney, what's got into you? You look like you're about to be sick." Judging from her voice, she'd gone from being annoyed with him to being concerned. She reached up to brush some of his hair back from his face. Just then he wondered if his mane needed a trim.

He reached for her, pulling her into a half-embrace, his forehead touching hers.

"I've been hearin' you say you want us to be…together…for the rest of your life."

"I notice you know you're gon'na outlive me," she laughed lightly. "But…yeah, I suppose I been sayin' things like that."

"Well…I was thinkin'…" He took his hand from her waist and reached into his pocket, removing the small object he'd purchased that day. "…that's not a bad idea." He flipped the top of the small velvet-lined box open with his thumb, showing her the ring inside. "What do you say, pet?"

She gasped, both hands flying to her mouth as she staggered a few surprised paces backward. "Oh, God in heaven…Sweeney…oh, do you mean it? You're askin' what I think you're askin', right? Are you…are you really askin' me to marry you?"

"That would be why I bought you a ring, yes."

Later, Sweeney would try to puzzle out exactly what happened. He never quite figured out how Nellie had managed to step close to him again so quickly, or how she had managed to overcome the hindrance of her heavy skirts to get both her arms _and_ her legs wrapped tightly around him in the blink of an eye. But there she was, clinging to him with all her strength, crying with sheer happiness.

"I'm glad you're so happy, Nellie, but you won't get to wear it if you don't get down."

She got back on her feet, blushing and wiping away tears.

"Here." He steadied her trembling hand and slipped the silver ring onto her finger.

"It's so beautiful," she breathed, spreading her fingers. "What kind of stone is it?"

"Amethyst, I think. It…reminded me of that purple dress you have." The violet gown was really the only dress of Nellie's he could remember, and only because he remembered that incident when he'd tried to give it to Lucy, but he did recall that Nellie liked that dress. "I think it suits you."

"It's lovely." When she looked away from the ring and up at him, there were still tears streaming down her face. "Sorry, dear…it's just…I'd given up 'ope…" She tried to brush the moisture away from her face, but gave up and flung her arms around him. "Thank you," she whimpered, starting to cry again.

"You're welcome, pet." He returned her tight embrace. He found himself looking up at the ceiling, wondering if he'd done the right thing. Nellie would be taking care of him for the rest of their lives. And she was happy. He'd done a magnificent job of making her miserable, so…he had massive potential to make her happy simply by caring about her, so he might as well make use of it. Not to mention he could kiss her again…

The door swung open and Toby walked in from wiping down the tables in the ale garden. "Mum?"

Nellie let go of Sweeney and faced her son. "Toby, Mr. T. and I are gon'na be married!"

The boy dropped the cloth he was holding. "What!?"

Nellie held up her ring hand, grinning fit to burst. "Look. Ain't it lovely?"

A completely stunned look remained on the boy's face.

Sweeney wrapped his arms around Nellie's waist from behind. She leaned back against him. Already she was acting a little less reserved. "Close your mouth, boy, or you'll catch flies."

"Mum…are you…sure?"

"Sure? I'm wearin' the ring, love!"

Sweeney took Nellie by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. She was still beaming, at least with the half of her mouth that could fully smile. She had probably had quite a pretty smile before he'd gone and ruined it. He slipped an arm around her again and said over her shoulder, "You could congratulate your mother. Maybe you haven't noticed, but she's quite happy about this."

Still looking a bit wary, Toby walked over, and Nellie extricated herself from Sweeney's embrace to accept Toby's. "I'm 'appy for you, Mum," he mumbled and kissed her cheek.

"All this excitement!" Nellie gasped as she stepped back, twisting the new ring on her finger. "Well, we'll 'ave to make plans, then. It'll just be a quick trip to St. Swithin's, nothin' too elaborate, I'm sure, and there ain't nobody in particular I wan'na invite. And I know I can't afford a dress, so…just a nice, small ceremony, eh? Not too painful, right, dear?" She looked up at Sweeney. He took her hand and squeezed it instead of replying verbally. "Well, I say this calls for a bit of a celebration." Nellie practically waltzed over to the cupboard to take out the bottle of gin. "You men sit down. It won't kill me to pour a few more drinks tonight."

Sweeney and Toby obeyed her, Toby giving Sweeney a look that was somewhere between the Evil Eye and intense suspicion. Sweeney almost sighed aloud; he'd thought he had won the boy's trust, at least to some extent. How could proposing to Nellie be construed as suspicious behavior?

Humming contentedly, Nellie poured them all tots of gin and sat beside Sweeney. She kissed him (on the cheek—damn) over her glass. "Toby, why so glum, dear?"

Toby said nothing.

"Out with it, lad," said Sweeney in a voice that was a bit more commanding than he'd meant it to be.

"Why did you ask 'er to marry you so soon?" the boy demanded.

"What're you on about?" That was Nellie. "Mr. Todd's been with us for a while."

"Ain't been that long that you've been treatin' Mum nice-like," Toby replied, still addressing Sweeney. "So why are you askin' 'er to marry you all of a sudden?"

"Did you consider that I might be tryin' to make up for the time when I wasn't treatin' her well?" the barber snapped.

Toby brought his glass back up to his mouth. "Ain't nothin' you could do to make up for what you did," he muttered over the rim.

"Both of you—don't get in such a tiff!" Nellie cried. "I know this is usually too much to ask, but you we all just be 'appy? Just for tonight, for my sake? Toby, there ain't no cause to worry. Mr. T. ain't gon'na 'urt me."

The boy looked abashed. "Sorry, Mum. Er…'m sorry, Mr. Todd."

"Just think a bit more before you jump to conclusions," Sweeney admonished. Nellie elbowed him lightly in the side.

They finished their drinks in silence. Nellie gulped hers down quickly so she could rest her head on Sweeney's shoulder while he drank. Toby stopped glaring at Sweeney.

As Sweeney finished off his last swallow of gin, Nellie excused herself so she could change into her nightgown. As soon as she was gone, Sweeney turned to Toby and said, "Did I hear her say that she doesn't think she'll be able to have a dress?"

"Yeah." Toby looked sadly into his glass of gin. "And she wants to get married in white, too. She told me."

"Well." Mr. Todd thought for a moment. "You think Nellie should have a white wedding gown."

"'Course I do—that's what she wants," said Toby indignantly, as if it were preposterous that he could think anything else.

"So what do you say we get her one?"

Toby scowled, both with confusion and at the implication that he and Mr. Todd might actually collaborate. "I thought we didn't 'ave enough money."

Sweeney began wishing he had Nellie's tendency to come up with clever ideas exactly when needed. "You think I'd let her get married without a proper gown? We could…raise the money."

"'ow?"

Now Sweeney was flying by the seat of his pants. _Think like Nellie. Think like Nellie._ "I…could ask my customers to pay a bit extra and tell them it's for Nellie's wedding gown."

Toby tilted his head to one side. "All right. And maybe I could sing in the street, with me cap out. 'cept I couldn't tell people what the money's for, doin' that."

"Make a sign. 'Help buy my mother a wedding dress,' or some such."

"Yeah…maybe I could, now that Mum's taught me to read and write."

"Good," said Sweeney curtly. "Just make sure she doesn't find out."

"_You _make sure she doesn't find out," Toby shot back.

The two men were still glaring at each other a bit, but it was a glare of agreement, if such a thing is possible.

Nellie came out of her bedroom not a second too late. "Toby, dear, do you need me to read to you 'fore you sleep, or will the gin put you out?"

"I'll be all right with just the gin, Mum."

"All right, then. Sweet dreams, love." Nellie kissed her son goodnight. "You sleepy yet, Sweeney?"

"Enough." He took her hand and they walked to Nellie's room while Toby sauntered off to bed, already weaving a little from gin-induced sleepiness.

Nellie closed the door once they were inside. _I could kiss her now, _Sweeney found himself thinking, but she beat him to it. She slipped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his cheek, a soft, lingering touch, quite different from the chaste little pecks she'd been giving him. "Sweeney, am I dreamin'?"

"No."

"Then…am I…imaginin' this? Am I goin' mad?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you really propose to me today?"

"Yes, pet, I did."

"I've dreamed of this day. But…"

"But what?"

"It feels like a dream. I mean…why did you ask me to marry you? I sure weren't expectin' it. Toby's right; you may 'ave been stayin' 'ere for months now, but you spent a lot of those months either not noticin' I was alive or doin' your best to make me miserable. It's been…not quite three months, I think, since you took Lucy to Bedlam. But 'ow long 'as it been since…well, you really seemed to start likin' me the night you kissed me, and that weren't much more than a month ago. So after a month of us lyin' close to each other while we sleep, you suddenly want us to be married? You ain't never even kissed me, not since that night."

"I thought…" Sweeney was beginning to wonder if his inability to vocally express his feelings was a Sweeney Todd thing or a general male thing. Benjamin Barker had never had any trouble telling his dear Lucy how much he loved her, and had done so daily… "I thought you wanted this."

Nellie let out a sound that he once would have only labeled as a laugh, but with today's Nellie it might have been a sob. She was still holding him, and he felt the harsh vibrations in her throat. "Oh, Mr. T…you've no idea 'ow much I want to marry you. I ain't never said it, but obviously you figured it out."

"You might as well have said it. If you were tryin' to keep that from me, you failed spectacularly."

"I thought you'd get angry with me if I said it straight out. I thought you might be startin' to care about me, maybe a little, and I didn't wan'na ruin it." Between the fact that she was speaking into his neck and the fact that those sentences were said very quietly, he barely understood her.

"Nellie, if you wanted to be married so badly, why have you been alone for nearly eighteen years?"

"'Cause…well, who'd marry me? After Albert died…well, I was young enough when 'is 'eart gave out, but still, widows ain't exactly desirable, especially barren ones. And I ain't rich or all that pretty. Besides…I was waitin' for you. Funny that I never realized it, but I never found anyone that could measure up to Benjamin Barker."

"What?" He stepped back from her and held her at arm's length. "Did you just say you never found anyone who could measure up to…Benjamin Barker?"

Nellie blushed. "I suppose you wasn't listenin' when I said it, but I told you right when you got back that I'd always 'ad a fondness for Benjamin."

Sweeney's brow furrowed. "In case you haven't noticed, Nellie, I'm not Benjamin."

"I know, dear." She laughed and shook her head, as if in embarrassment. "But when you came back…oh, you'll laugh. Or get angry at me."

"Why would I get angry at you?"

Nellie sighed. "Sorry, love…I just 'ave this memory of me sayin' I love you and you slicin' me face up…"

"Nellie…" His hands moved to her face. He ran the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones, but couldn't think of the right thing to say.

"Promise you won't get angry?"

"Yes."

She looked up at him. "When you came back, it was bloody obvious you weren't the same. You was just so different from Benjamin Barker I couldn't 'elp but wonder what they did to you. I used to watch Benjamin with Lucy and think I wanted somebody to take care of me like that, but…just seemed to me like Sweeney Todd needed somebody to take care of 'im. And, well, I thought that could be me. I just wanted to take care of you. I know it sounds foolish." She decided to not push her luck and left off the fact that she could take better care of him than Lucy could, a fact which admittedly was important to her.

Sweeney had never felt so lost for words. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? "That's nice to know; I used to think you just wanted a man on your arm so you could look respectable?" He racked his brain for something to say. "I don't think it sounds foolish", perhaps? Or maybe "I think I do need you to take care of me." He'd have hated admitting it at one point, even to himself, but it was very true; he'd be nowhere without her. For heaven's sake, she killed Turpin for him! He suddenly remembered that she had kept his razors waiting for him during his long absence. How had he forgotten that?

Nellie rested her hand on his cheek. "You know I try, don't you?"

That, at least, was easy to answer. "Yes."

Apparently she'd known he wouldn't be able to think of anything to say after her explanation of why she loved him, because she didn't ask for a response; instead she said, "You never answered me."

"What didn't I answer?"

"Why did you ask me to marry you only a month after you started thinkin' I was worth more'n a second glance?"

Sweeney hesitated. _Because I like you well enough, but mostly because I felt like I had to after everything I put you through. _"Do you remember what I said to the…to Toby when he asked that?"

"Yeah…I think so…you said you were tryin' to make up for what you done to 'urt me. Was that true?"

"More or less."

Nellie looked unsatisfied, but she nodded. He wondered if she shared the boy's suspicion that his marriage proposal was part of an elaborate plot to hurt her again. "Do you wan'na go to sleep now?"

"Do you?"

She grinned. "Sleep, no. Cuddle up to you, yeah."

"See? Did I get upset with you for that?"

"No," she said, still beaming. "Oh…Sweeney, you never changed into your nightclothes."

He shrugged lightly. "I'll be right back." With that, he left the room, and when he returned dressed in more appropriate attire, Nellie was already lying in bed. She opened her arms to him when he came over to her; he climbed into bed, gathered her up, held her. He was fairly sure that his inability to tell Nellie how he felt about her was the result of his lacking ability to be sincere, not a lack of feelings for her; he certainly didn't love her, but he knew he would rather spend the rest of his life with her than anyone else. So he would have to prove to Nellie that he appreciated her by showing rather than telling, at least for now.

"Sweeney, I know you like to wait 'til I'm asleep, but could you touch me back now? Please?"

He hesitated. He had usually waited until she was asleep because he didn't want her to think of it as a sign of affection or…or that he cared about her. Except…he did care about her, at least a little. He cared enough. So he answered by sliding his hand down her spine, earning a small sigh from her.

"Thanks, love."

_Say something. You're going to marry her; you should be able to talk to her. _"You're welcome."

* * *

Garnering money for Nellie's wedding gown was easier for Sweeney than it was for Toby. The boy ended up having to beg off of work, saying he had friends he wanted to play with, and Nellie was so overjoyed that Toby had found friends his age that she let him leave the pie shop. Of course, Sweeney would occasionally have to answer the half-frantic shout of "Sweeney, Toby ain't 'ere, could you please 'elp me out for a few minutes?" When he wasn't helping Nellie during one of Toby's absences, he politely requested that his customers pay ten percent extra to help him pay for his fiancé's wedding dress. One of his most interesting responses to that question came from a regular, a London tailor who Sweeney had been unable to kill due to his connections to the community and had been returning to the tonsorial parlor ever since. The man had asked as if he were only half paying attention, "If I may ask, Mr. Todd, who is your intended?"

"Mrs. Lovett; perhaps you've been to her establishment downstairs?"

The man had sat bolt upright in the chair and turned to Sweeney with an enormous smile. "Really? Well, it's about bloody time!" And he'd given Sweeney twice what had been requested.

Between the two of them, Sweeney and Toby raised what they thought was enough to buy Nellie a wedding gown (with the addition of whatever money either of the two adults in the building could spare; Sweeney had done the calculations) by the end of the week. Toby wanted to be the one to present it to her and Sweeney didn't object. On Friday after both the pie shop and the barbershop had closed, Toby slipped off to retrieve the money from the loose floorboard under which Nellie had kept Sweeney's razors during his absence. Nellie had just noticed that Toby was gone and had started calling him when he scampered down the stairs. "Got somefin' for you, Mum."

"What is it, dear?"

He'd been holding it behind his back, and when he heard the question, he showed her the glass jar that was stuffed full of the money he and Mr. Todd had collected. "Mum, you told me you wanted to get married in white, so I thought you should 'ave a dress, and me and…Mr. Todd…got enough for you to buy a wedding dress."

"Oh, Toby, you sweet, sweet, wonderful child…" Nellie threw her arms around her son. "You thought this up yourself?"

"Well…" replied Toby grudgingly, "actually…it was Mr. Todd's idea."

"Really?" Nellie's eyebrows shot up. "Mr. Todd came up with this?"

"Oh, the two of us worked together," said Toby, trying not to lose any credit for the kind deed that had been done for Mrs. Lovett. "But I guess 'e thought of it."

"The boy's tellin' the truth, pet," said Sweeney from the doorway.

Nellie kissed Toby and walked to Sweeney, a tentative smile on her face. "Sweeney, this…this was really your idea?"

"Toby said you wanted a white dress. I thought it would be easy enough to ask the customers for a bit of extra money for your dress, and it was."

"But…proposin' to me, and now this? Why?"

"Because you wanted it."

"I didn't…I didn't think you cared that much…" She looked overjoyed, but sounded afraid. "Is this all for real?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"'Cause it would be very much like you to try to bring me 'opes up and then…" she paused, remembering that Toby was behind her. "…betray me."

"Nellie, I punish. I don't torture. And I certainly have hurt you enough and was hopin' to make you happy after all that."

She laughed through a sigh. "You and Toby raised money so I could 'ave a wedding dress. For cripes' sake, love, we should use money like that for food!"

He took her by the waist. "Do you want a wedding dress?"

"It ain't practical…"

"I didn't ask you if it was practical. I asked you if you wanted it."

She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. She nodded. "Yes. I wan'na marry you in a white wedding dress."

"Then it's settled."

Nellie's head snapped up as if she'd just realized something. "Toby…" she turned her head to face her son. "Is this where you've been when you said you was runnin' off to play with friends? Gettin' money for me dress?"

"Yeah," answered Toby with a sheepish grin.

"Oh!" cried Nellie, almost disappointed. "And 'ere I was thinkin' you'd finally found some friends your age 'stead of you 'elpin' me out all the time."

"Well, I did meet a new friend," Toby protested. "I was singin' in the street with me cap out for people to toss money in, and I got to talkin' to a boy about me age, and we ended up playin' tag and such a few times."

"That's lovely, dear. What's 'is name?"

"Aaron. And e's got a lil' sister, Micaiah."

"At least you've actually got friends now! I expect to see you missin' work occasionally to spend time with them, but not too much, all right?"

"All right, Mum."

"Now come 'ere, you." Nellie held out her arms to Toby and he walked over to accept another quick thankful squeeze. "Thank you." She turned to Sweeney and smiled. "Thank you both."

"You hugged the boy twice. What about me?" said Sweeney with mock anger. Nellie grinned and wrapped her arms around him. He clutched her tightly and whispered in her ear, "You see, pet? I'm not a complete bastard."

"No, you ain't," she whispered back.

She was so happy. Sweeney tried to think of something to say to her, something that focused on him treating her well as opposed to not treating her badly. But the only thing he could think of was how he hoped that after their wedding he would be able to look at her scars or see her not acting like her old self and not feel so guilty.

* * *

Author's Notes: Okay, so, Sweeney's being nice because he feels guilty. But he really has every reason to feel guilty, and he likes her a little bit, so it's a start.

Oh, and I know there was a pretty long wait between this chapter and the last considering I'm on summer break, but what I just finished was a really long chapter that I broke up, and what you've just read is the first half.


	11. Traditions

Blade of Madness

Chapter Eleven: Traditions

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, Sweenett

Author's Notes: Wedding chapter! It's a bit short, but that's because it was originally the second half of Chapter 10.  


* * *

Nellie and Sweeney were married the following weekend. Toby had helped Nellie select and buy a wedding dress, since Nellie insisted that Sweeney not see her wear it until the ceremony. They also wrote their own vows, which were short and simple; Nellie kept saying she didn't want to ask too much of Sweeney, since he'd already been kind enough to agree to marry her and help pay for her gown. It was tacitly agreed that, while Nellie would walk to Hell's gates for Sweeney while he might possibly be troubled to walk to the market to get her flowers on her birthday, it wouldn't be fair to point that out in their wedding vows.

On the afternoon of their wedding, Nellie could hardly sit still as Sweeney set her hair. She was trying her hardest not to be giddy and having moderate success.

"Nellie, if you don't hold still, your hair will be a rat's nest for your wedding. You don't want that, do you?"

"No. Sorry, sweet."

"Just quit squirmin'."

Nellie managed to restrict her fidgeting to tapping her foot. She watched Sweeney in the mirror as he dampened and combed out her curls, then took a handful of hair from each side of her face and pinning the strands up high on her head. The hair framed her face in a way similar to the way her old hairdo did, if not quite so dramatically. "You promise me you won't get cold feet?"

"Yes." He threaded one white ribbon through a set of two crossed pins on one side of her head, then the other. "There you are."

Nellie turned her head back and forth, examining the hairstyle she'd be wearing for her wedding. "I like it. Thanks, dear."

Sweeney laid his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly; she took one of those hands and kissed it. "You're excited, aren't you?"

Nellie laughed. "I've only been dreamin' about marryin' you for years. 'Course I'm excited!"

"Years? Really?"

"Well, more since you got 'ome, but…yeah, I suppose."

She still had her fingers interlaced with his, so he lifted the hand that held his and roughly kissed her knuckles. "I need to get dressed."

"Don't look too beautiful or I'll go into a full swoon right in front of the altar at the sight of you." Nellie got up and kissed his cheek. "I'll get changed and Toby and I will be off, then."

"Is the boy walkin' you down the aisle?"

"Well, me father can't do it, so Toby wanted to. It ain't conventional, but I don't think anyone'll care, or know to care."

He didn't know what to say besides, "I'll see you there."

"See you there, love." She left, and she blew him a kiss as she walked out the door.

He once would have believed it impossible, but he was beginning to see that, on rare occasions, Nellie could be rather cute. He shook his head as if to clear the thought away and set about getting his suit on. Nellie had bought it for him not long after her pie shop had become successful, and it just occurred to him that she had probably been dreaming of their wedding when she'd purchased it. He couldn't remember the explanation she'd offered at the time; he hadn't been listening.

Nellie and Toby were already gone when he was finished dressing, as planned. Nellie would have already changed into her wedding dress and departed by coach for St. Swithin's. Sweeney walked; they were saving money by not hiring two coaches after barely being able to pay for the wedding itself and Nellie's gown despite the assistance of the money Toby and Sweeney had raised. Sweeney cleared his mind as he walked. He didn't want to think about what he was getting into, only that he was making Nellie happy and that maybe things would be less awkward between them now.

He was standing at the altar waiting for her almost before he knew it. He looked up when he heard the footsteps and saw Nellie walking down the aisle, draped in white. The boy had his arm linked through hers; Sweeney had never realized how much taller the boy was than she. She was blushing madly and obviously struggling not to grin until her face broke apart, or maybe she didn't want to display her scarred, crooked smile.

She looked beautiful.

The boy sat down and she took up her place beside him. The priest cleared his throat and began reciting. Sweeney swallowed dryly. There had been no rehearsal; Nellie had talked to the priest and then assured her husband-to-be that it would be easy enough and he wouldn't need any practice. Suddenly she was squeezing his hand; they'd talked about that—it was his cue to recite the vows, just in case he missed the cue from the priest. Feeling as if his throat were about to collapse, Sweeney began stumbling through the words he'd memorized. He knew he didn't sound particularly genuine. Then it was Nellie's turn, and she sounded a bit choked too, though for completely different reasons. She had enough sincerity for both of them. Sweeney listened distantly as the priest continued with a few sentences, and then he heard the question: "Nellie Lovett, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

She looked up at him and for a moment Sweeney thought she was struggling for breath, but then she whispered, "I do." It was a tiny, breathy sound, but its conviction seemed to make it resonate throughout the entire space of the chapel.

Then it was his turn. "Sweeney Todd, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

_Say it. Say it._ Sweeney coughed to cover the fact that he couldn't force his tongue to form the words.

"Sweeney." Nellie had his face in her hands and they were facing each other. It was just then that he realized she wasn't holding a bouquet. "You don't 'ave to do this."

There was his motivation. "Yes…I do."

A look of relief mixed with joy flooded her face; even with the scars, she was so expressive, so easy to read. The priest continued, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Nellie stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "You _may_, but I ain't gon'na make you." She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the very corner of his mouth. From most angles it would appear that she had kissed him normally.

"But I think I will." He hooked an arm around her waist and kissed her full on the lips, and he could have sworn he felt her knees give way.

Toby cleared his throat politely. He was standing behind them, holding Nellie's wedding band on a small pillow. Sweeney's hands shook as he slid the engagement ring from Nellie's finger and slipped it into a pocket. When he picked up the ring from the pillow, he dropped it, but Nellie had picked it up in a flash. "Not to worry, dear—it's said to be good luck, that the ring drops during the ceremony." She tucked it into his palm and held out her left hand, and this time he successfully pushed the ring onto his wife's finger.

Nellie thanked the priest and Sweeney croaked out something resembling thanks as well, and the two of them proceeded out of the church, followed by Toby. Their coach was waiting for them just outside. Sweeney at least had the presence of mind to open the carriage's door for Nellie and offer her his hand to help her up. When he climbed inside after her, she was crying softly, and for a moment he thought his lack of conviction (except for the kiss, of course) had upset her, but then she threw her arms around his neck and whispered, "I can't believe it's true. I'm…I'm Mrs. Todd now!"

"Yes you are, pet. Now sit back and let me have a look at you."

She obeyed him. The dress she'd chosen had a low neckline bedecked with a long lace ruffle that ran up over her shoulders to form the sleeves. The skirt was long enough to sweep the ground, though there was no train, and a thin layer of lace identical to the pattern on the neckline was laid over the satiny white fabric of the skirt. It was not an elaborate dress, but white wedding gowns were expensive. He noticed that while she was wearing white, which she'd desperately wanted despite the fact that it was completely inappropriate for a widow, she'd drawn the line at the veil that was symbol for virginity. She was also wearing fingerless white satin gloves; how had she managed to keep a grip on the ring when he hadn't?

"Good choice." He touched the sleeve of her gown.

"Yeah, Mum, you look right beau'iful."

"Oh, thank you both." Nellie smoothed her hands over the skirt as the coach began rolling. "I didn't get to wear white at me first wedding. I know I ain't supposed to wear it now, since it's me second marriage and all…but…I don't know why, Sweeney—not to say nothin' bad about me poor Albert, 'e took fine care of me—but it feels like you're the first man I married. This feels…right." She plucked at the white fabric.

"It looks right." He took her hand to stop her toying with her skirt.

"Oh, by the way…" Nellie pulled a ragged pale blue handkerchief out of her corset. "Toby, dear, you can 'ave this back." The boy took the handkerchief from her outstretched hand. In response to a quizzical look from Sweeney, she explain, "The 'andkerchief was both borrowed and blue. You know, 'somethin' borrowed, somethin' blue?'" She held out her hands. "The gloves are old; they belonged to me rich aunt Nettie. And the ribbons in me hair are new." She reached down and yanked one of her boots off, and a coin clattered to the floor. "And there was the silver sixpence in me shoe. That thing was startin' to bother me, too."

Sweeney was quite familiar with the "something old, something new" etc. rhyme and his quizzical look had been in response to Nellie keeping the borrowed/blue thing _in her corset_, but he decided to drop the issue and instead retrieved the silver sixpence from the floor.

"That wasn't too bad, was it, love?"

"No."

"Seemed like it was," Toby muttered, but they heard him.

"_Toby,_" said Nellie warningly.

Sweeney said nothing because he knew the boy was right; he hadn't acted enthused or even earnest about the ceremony. He thought about trying to reassure Nellie by telling her that even Benjamin Barker had been a stammering, frightened mess during his wedding to his beloved Lucy, but the last thing Nellie needed was to be reminded about Lucy.

Nellie saved him by changing the subject. "You look right 'andsome, dear. Didn't I tell you not to look to too beautiful?" She reached over to caress his hair. "It almost 'urts me eyes to look at you. Eh, well…at least I didn't swoon."

"I think you did, a bit, there at the end…"

"And I'd say that's your fault for kissin' me like that!" She was obviously pleased that he was displaying enough of a sense of humor to taunt her.

"Did you really think I wasn't goin' to kiss you?"

"Well, you'd only kissed me once before that, and I weren't sure if you were regrettin' that one time."

"Really? Only once?" Toby blurted out. They both looked at him, and he blushed and averted his eyes.

"Trust me, pet, I wasn't regrettin' it."

Nellie stopped stroking his hair and let her hand trail down his face to rest on his cheek. "So I ain't a bad kisser?"

"I didn't say _that_, my dear," said Sweeney with a small smile.

"Sweeney, I do believe you are teasin' me!" she laughed.

"I do have a sense of humor, you know." He cupped her face in his hands, tracing the long scar on her left cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Your 'ands are all rough. Callused."

"So are yours. Are you complainin'?"

"Not at all. Are you?"

"Er…Mum?" Even with those two little sounds, Toby was able to convey how awkward it made him feel to see Nellie and Sweeney being affectionate. "We're 'ome."

Nellie pecked Sweeney a kiss and the three of them alighted from the coach. Once they were inside, Nellie quickly slipped into her room to change into an ordinary dress; she and Sweeney were planning to go out for supper together and she couldn't be in her wedding gown for that. She chose a black gown with a neckline that swept across her chest and became the tops of her long, translucent sleeves, with a bodice that was made from a thin, stiff, vertically lined black material that looked silver in a certain light, and a floor-length skirt with fringes of black-and-silver brocade at intervals down the skirt's length.

"In mournin' already, pet? I thought you'd just been married, not widowed," was Sweeney's remark when he saw her.

She slapped his shoulder lightly. "I like this dress, all right? It's the nicest one I 'ave."

"It's quite fetchin', Mum."

"Thank you, son. Now, Mr. T. and I are goin' out for supper and we'll likely be back late, so will you be all right gettin' to sleep on your own?"

He nodded. "I'll be fine, Mum."

She gave her son a quick hug and a kiss. "If you need the gin, don't drink too much, yeah? It ain't good for you."

"Yes, Mum."

"Good. Now, Sweeney, shall we be off?" She offered him her hand and he took it. She waved to Toby as she and her new husband walked out the door.

The restaurant where Nellie and Sweeney were headed was close, so they got there on foot. "So 'ow do you feel, Sweeney, bein' married again?" Nellie queried as they walked. "Does it feel like your second marriage, even though the first one was Benjamin's?"

"I don't know," was all he said.

"You ain't so good at talkin' about your feelin's, are you, dear?"

"No."

"Just answer me this. Are you 'appy? At all? Does it feel good that you're married to me?"

That was surprisingly easy. "Yes."

"I bet you're glad you're marryin' me now, not the me from about five months ago. 'Cause she'd've been completely giddy right now, after bein' married to you.

"Are you giddy?"

She looked up at him with a grin. "'Course I am, just not enough to embarrass you in public."

"We'll see, pet," he responded with a smirk that, as Nellie was quickly learning, he used when he was teasing her.

"Oh, _you_!"

By then they had reached the restaurant. They were lucky that it was within walking distance, as most eateries that weren't dish-specific shops like Mrs. Lovett's (or rather, Mrs. Todd's) were clubs that were almost exclusive to men. Of course, it was normally only the high-class who made use of restaurants, but Nellie and Sweeney were both well-dressed and no one would object to their presence as long as Nellie remembered to disguise her common accent. They found a table for two by one of the windows, and asked for wine and a bit of time to decide what they wanted for supper.

"This is nice, bein' alone with you."

"I'd rather actually be _alone _with you instead of bein' around all these _people_," Sweeney grumbled.

"We ain't…I mean, we're not…sittin' too near anyone but that one couple. Just try to ignore them," cajoled Nellie in a whisper, reaching across the table for his hand.

Speaking of the couple…

Sweeney could hear them talking in loud whispers. He would have made more of an effort to ignore them, but something about their tone caught his attention. They sounded as if they were speaking of something scandalous, or frightening, or both. It was when he distinctly heard the words "But did you get a look at her _face_?" that he turned to look. He felt his temper flare when he saw the young woman—elegantly dressed, immaculately coiffed and of course with a flawless complexion—using a fingertip to pull down the corner of her mouth in an imitation of Nellie's scarred face. Her companion had caught sight of Nellie and was staring at her openly. Poor Nellie was sipping her wine and trying very hard to ignore the fact that she was being goggled at like a freak show exhibit.

"Oi!" called Sweeney sharply. "I know she's beautiful, but you don't have to stare." As if to prove he thought Nellie was beautiful, he leaned over the table and kissed her—luckily she'd put down her wine glass. The two insensitive diners turned away, humiliated.

"Thanks, love," Nellie whispered.

They worked their way through a proper upper-class five-course dinner. Nellie was in absolute heaven; Sweeney knew she adored the idea of luxury and aspired to be a member of the upper class herself. He wondered if she had picked that up from her parents, an impoverished couple who had given extravagant names to their offspring and handed off their burdensome youngest daughter at earliest convenience when she lost her ability to bear children. Then again, Nellie had seemingly abandoned her quest to appear high-class and genteel after Sweeney cut her face in favor of survival, and even with the pie shop doing quite well recently, she hadn't set about buying herself fancy dresses and decorations for her establishment like she had done the first time her shop prospered. So maybe she was just really enjoying the corn oysters (which were indeed delicious). Sweeney was also enjoying the food, as well as the fact that the insolent couple had left and he was alone with Nellie. They talked in quiet voices between bites.

"Nellie, you know we've technically moved past the first course now. You may have noticed they're about to bring out the dessert."

Nellie was nibbling on a corn oyster, which, along with a tureen of savory soup, had been part of the first course. "But there were some left over, and it'd be such a shame to have them go to waste."

He was impressed she remembered to sound the "h" in "have." "By which you mean you can't control yourself and keep eating them."

"Well, they're _good_!"

"You should learn to make them, then, if you're so fond of them. Your customers might like them. You've been changin' up the menu, haven't you?"

"A bit, yeah, but if I learned to make these, it's all too likely that I'd eat nothin' else."

The last course—cake and preserved fruit—came then, and they polished it off. Nellie was carefully making note of everything Sweeney ate so she could remember which dishes he liked best, so maybe she could learn how to make them. She was fairly sure she'd gotten a sense of what ingredients were in the food simply by its taste; she'd always been good at that.

They paid for their meal, and the cost wasn't anything approaching cheap, but Sweeney insisted on playing the gentleman and paying the entire fee. They departed from the restaurant and walked home, hand in hand. With both the ceremony and the celebration over, Sweeney found his mind wandering. He barely noticed it when they arrived back at 186 Fleet Street, and found himself by the pie shop window, gazing outside. He found himself wondering if maybe he should have carried Nellie over the threshold. Benjamin had carried Lucy Barker over the threshold of their new home after they were married. He found himself imagining, or maybe recalling, walking arm in arm with Lucy around the space of their new dwelling, animatedly discussing all of the wonderful possibilities of their life together. Their future had been so bright…

"I know that look," came a voice from behind him. It wasn't Lucy's voice, and he found himself jolted back to reality. "That's the look of a man thinkin' about 'is 'eart's desire, that is."

Nellie sidled up next to him. She had already changed into her nightdress and taken the pins and ribbons out of her hair, and her curls tumbled chaotically onto her shoulders. She laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "You miss 'er, don't you?"

Sweeney felt a small pang of guilt that he'd just married Nellie and she had caught him thinking about his former wife. Wasn't this marriage supposed to get rid of his guilt? "Yes."

"I thought so." She sighed. "Sweeney, now that the ceremony's over, we'd best talk about this. About…us."

He didn't like the way she said that. True, she wasn't as cheery as she used to be, but she was still a generally happy person, if a bit more cynical and suspicious…and in touch with reality. But now she sounded so resigned he hardly recognized her voice. "All right."

"I was awful 'appy when you proposed to me, but we both know you married me 'cause you feel guilty for all the nasty things you put me through."

"I care about you," he shot back, almost defensively. While it was true that he had married her out of guilt, he wouldn't have done so if he didn't have other, more positive, feelings for her as well.

"I ain't sayin' you don't care enough come to me funeral, I'm just sayin' you wouldn't shed too many tears there. So obviously, we've got a strange marriage on our 'ands, and I thought I should ask you if you really wanted anythin' to change between us, or if we're goin' to pretend we're like any married couple."

"What do you mean, 'pretend?'"

"I mean, you wouldn't be ashamed to 'ave me on your arm in public, and you let me kiss you goodnight. Maybe you let me drag you to the park with Toby to 'ave a little picnic once in a while. Little things like that. We'll just…make it look like we're real close, but I won't ask you to do anythin' you don't want to."

"Are you askin' me to pretend to love you?"

She smiled grimly. She didn't look much like herself when she did that, because there was absolutely no levity in the expression. "I suppose you could see it like that. But only when we ain't alone. 'Cause I don't expect you to lie to me all the time, but it'd be nice to believe you're really fond of me once in a while."

Sweeney placed his hands on the windowsill. "That's odd, because it really seemed like you were askin' me to act on what feelin's I do have for you, but nothin' more."

She laughed. "Maybe that is a better way to put it. But those feelin's you're talkin' about better be good ones, 'cause it is legal for you to beat me now."

"For God's sake, Nellie, I didn't marry you so I can beat you." He looked at her. "What the hell happened to you in the past ten minutes? You were so happy at the restaurant."

"Was that botherin' you?"

"No! Has it occurred to you that I _like _to see you happy?"

"You…you do?" She sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yes!" Sweeney turned to face her, resting his hands on her un-corseted waist.

Nellie smiled, and it was a genuine smile. A real Nellie smile. "One more thing. I, er, I've got somethin' I wan'na ask of you. I don't think it's too much. I 'ope it ain't."

"What?"

She took a deep breath. "Please don't ever call me Lucy."

He didn't understand.

"I mean, if the only way you ever manage to stomach takin' me to bed with you is pretendin' I'm somebody I ain't, I don't wan'na know. And…you know, whenever you're with me at all, if you're thinkin' about your Lucy, keep it to yourself."

Oh.

"Well, I'll be gettin' to sleep now. If you need some tea, you got a question for me, anythin', just wake me."

"I will."

"Kiss me goodnight?"

He kissed her. He meant it; she could tell.

"'Night, love."

"Good night, Nellie."

She left, and Sweeney turned back to the window. It was only a few moments after Nellie walked away that a thought hit Sweeney like a freight train.

It was their wedding night.

His heart almost stopped. That fact hadn't even entered his head until that second. He had only thought of how happy Nellie would be if he married her, and how he wanted to stay with her. Not to mention he (but had that "he" been Benjamin or Sweeney?) had sworn to never desire any woman but Lucy, and during his long stint in Australia had become perhaps the only human in history to fully repress his manly desires by sheer willpower. Even when he thought of Lucy, he had started recalling only chaste memories, as if that could make his relationship with her more sweet, more pure; Lucy, after all, had been a shy, modest woman. So the potential of honoring his and Nellie's wedding night in the traditional manner had never once crossed his mind. And frankly, now that the thought was crossing his mind, he was terrified. Theoretically, he wasn't at all opposed to the idea, but he was being blindsided and was mentally underprepared for such an event. Benjamin Barker had had a similar reaction to his wedding night, incidentally. But that had been different; Lucy, being both chaste and very proper, had never expressed any desire for Benjamin, who had ended up being afraid he'd hurt Lucy. Nellie was a different matter entirely. She'd never mentioned their wedding night, but Sweeney knew perfectly well that was only because she feared his reaction.

But then, she had mentioned it, hadn't she? In a way, just a moment ago, she had mentioned it, when she'd asked him to never accidentally call her Lucy. She had said something like "if you ever manage to stomach takin' me to bed with you;" what a horrible thing to have to say to someone you loved. He was a bit surprised that she would think he would only be able to consummate his marriage with her if he pretended she was Lucy; surely his insults from months ago hadn't been enough to make a strong woman like Nellie think she was ugly. Then again, he might have succeeded in convincing her that _he_ thought she was ugly. But lately he'd been telling her she was pretty, hadn't he?

He walked slowly to her—their—bedroom, unsure of what he would find there. He found himself picturing her sitting up in bed, a little half-smile on her face, her nightgown pushed off one shoulder...

It was dark; the sun had fully set and Nellie hadn't even left a candle burning. Sweeney gave his eyes a few moments to adjust to the low light, and then could make out the Nellie-shape lying at the far edge of the bed, facing away from him, ostensibly asleep. Of course, she was still awake; he knew she couldn't sleep without him there. For a moment he wondered why she hadn't waited up for him—after all, she had basically told him she didn't expect anything unusual to happen that night—but then he realized it. By feigning sleep, she was sparing him the awkwardness of rejecting her and herself the pain of being rejected. No wonder she'd been so pessimistic the last time they spoke; she'd been constantly reminding herself that her new husband didn't want her in order to keep herself from saying anything that she thought might upset him.

He felt relieved, and then ashamed of feeling relieved. It wasn't that he found Nellie unappealing; he simply wasn't mentally prepared. All those nights of her sleeping in his arms, with him running his hand over her bare back for cripes' sake, and he'd never given a thought to whether or not she might be attractive. He wasn't used to such thoughts; had only found her presence warm, and rather comforting. He had called her ugly and other similar things many times after the day she told him Lucy was alive, but he had only been trying to hurt her feelings; he didn't actually find her unsightly or repulsive. And now he was hurting her feelings again by subjecting her to a marriage that she knew was a charade but desperately wanted to be real. He hadn't thought of that when he proposed to her, but there was no going back now.

He went upstairs to change into his nightclothes and then returned downstairs. Nellie was still pretending to sleep. He played along, getting into bed slowly and carefully as if not to wake her. He moved close to her, fitting himself against her back as if the two of them were puzzle pieces. She didn't move or otherwise react, even when he draped his arm over her waist. Sweeney briefly thought about "waking" her and trying to reassure her that their marriage would (probably) be consummated, just not until he was ready, and she shouldn't feel like it was any poor reflection on her. But that would have involved talking about his feelings, so he didn't do it.

His hand found Nellie's and he stroked his thumb over her knuckles. _Soon, my pet. Soon.  


* * *

Author's Notes: I called this chapter "Traditions" because Nellie and Sweeney closely followed some traditions and ignored others. For example, a Victorian widow wearing white to her wedding was a BIG no-no; she was supposed to wear very pale mauve or ecru or something else whitish. And of course the most significant tradition that they broke with was the wedding night._

Something else; I wasn't really sure how to describe it, but the dress Nellie wears after the wedding is the dress from the final scene. I love that dress and I'm trying to prevent myself from thinking of it as "the dress she dies in."

Oh, yeah, and there was a really disappointing lack of reviews for the last chapter, so, hint hint.


	12. Steps Forward

Blade of Madness

Chapter Twelve: Steps Forward

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, Sweenett

Author's Notes: Yes, they finally get around to celebrating their wedding night in this chapter. Don't get too excited; this story may be rated M, but sex makes me uncomfortable so the best I can do with that scene will be a T rating. Of course the story rating won't change, but…yeah.

* * *

Nellie woke before Sweeney the following morning. She tried to get up discreetly enough that she wouldn't wake her husband, but two of them were lying so close there was no way for her to successfully accomplish that. Sweeney woke as Nellie climbed off of the bed, but he remained still with his eyes closed. He heard the creak of the wardrobe door and realized she was likely changing into her clothes. He turned over and slitted his eyes so he could see while appearing to still be asleep; he saw that Nellie had opened the wardrobe door and was using it to shield herself. Well, he should have expected that, as she likely thought he wouldn't want to see her changing her clothes.

He sat up and waited for her. She started when she came out from behind the wardrobe and saw that he was awake. "Oh! Sweeney, I'm sorry—did I wake you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to."

"There was no way you could have gotten up and not woken me." He stood and walked to her. "Stop apologizin' for things you couldn't have avoided. It's not like you."

She laughed. "Didn't the two of us 'ave a talk about 'ow you got no right to say what's like me and what ain't like me?"

"I'm your husband. I should know you well enough." He laid his hands on her sides. He'd never really noticed how small her waist was.

"Do you know me well enough?"

"If I don't, then…that needs work."

"Is that work you're willin' to do?" She interlaced her fingers behind his neck. She seemed to have realized that yes-or-no questions were the easiest way for him to express himself.

"Yes."

Nellie smiled. "Me hair's a bloomin' mess. Would you mind fixin' it up for me?"

"No. Let me go upstairs and change, and you start breakfast. Then I'll fix your hair."

"All right."

Nellie made their bed while Sweeney went upstairs to change his clothes. When he came downstairs, Nellie was bent over the stove making porridge. "Pet?"

"Hmm?" She looked up at him. "Are you ready to fix me hair?"

"Yes."

Toby walked in, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Ah, son, you're just in time."

"Just in time for what, Mum?" he yawned.

"Come 'ere."

He walked up to her and she gave him a quick hug. "Would you be a dear and keep the porridge from burnin' while Mr. T. fixes me hair?"

Toby's tired eyes lit up. He was still yearning to become Nellie's apprentice and he took any opportunity to prove to her that he had promise at cooking or baking. "Sure, Mum!"

"Thanks, love." She kissed him and went upstairs with Sweeney.

Sweeney stood Nellie in front of the mirror and combed her curls into submission before braiding the hair into two French plaits, one on each side of her head. She was admiring the hairstyle when he took her by the hips and turned her around to face him.

"Thank you," Nellie whispered.

"You're welcome." He slid his hands to the small of her back.

Her eyes flickered up to his, and then darted away. He thought he saw a faint blush appear on her cheeks. "Sweeney?"

"Hmm?"

"It's about killin' me not to kiss you right now."

"Why don't you?"

She met his eyes again. "Good point." She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips onto his. He tightened his grip on her, kissing her back hard enough to make her whimper a little against his mouth.

Nellie pulled away from him without any warning. "Sorry, love."

"Sorry? What are you sorry for?"

"I'd better make sure the…the porridge ain't burned. Toby…I'm not sure 'e knows what 'e's doin'."

She practically flew from the room. Sweeney followed her and watched as she took the wooden spoon from Toby and finished cooking and seasoning the porridge.

"Breakfast is ready, men." Nellie served them both and sat down beside Sweeney.

"It's delicious, Mum."

"Well, you did most of the work, dear."

"Nellie." Sweeney took her hand. "You always tell me I didn't answer you, now you don't answer me. What did you apologize for when we were upstairs?"

"I shouldn't've kissed you like that," she muttered and shoved a spoonful of porridge into her mouth.

"Like what? Nellie, I'm your husband. You can kiss me however you want."

"Maybe if I was married to somebody who loved me, I could. That kiss weren't exactly…chaste." For a moment he thought she was being facetious, but then he realized she was completely sincere.

"Nellie…" He put his arm around her waist and she rested her head on his shoulder. He spoke softly so Toby couldn't overhear. "You do whatever you want. You'll be able to tell if I'm ever unhappy with you."

"What, you'll come at me with the razor again?"

"I will _tell you _to stop. I promised you I'd never hurt you again, right?"

"No you didn't! You just kissed me one night and acted like that made everythin' right." She sat up straight and began stirring her porridge savagely.

"Well, I promise now, all right?"

She nodded.

"You'd _better_ not ever hurt her again," said Toby lowly.

"Toby, I trust Mr. Todd. You'd do well to learn to do the same."

The boy nodded grudgingly.

"All right, then." Nellie kissed Sweeney's cheek. "We'll all just get along now, eh?"

* * *

It wasn't that easy.

Even before the day Nellie was attacked, she knew that her life with Sweeney wouldn't be exactly like she had dreamed. Their current situation was far more different from her hopes than she'd expected, but she thought they were managing. Sweeney let her kiss him whenever she wanted. Sometimes he was the one to kiss her. She was fairly sure than soon she'd be able to stop pretending to sleep whenever Sweeney came into their bedroom at night; surely by know he understood she didn't expect to get anything more than kisses from him. That particular fact disappointed her more than he'd ever know, but she could deal with it. At least, she hoped she could deal with it.

It was getting difficult. Somehow the gossipmongers in the neighborhood found out that Nellie and Sweeney had been married. True, she hadn't been trying to hide it; she never took off her wedding ring, and she wore her engagement ring on a chain around her neck whenever the amethyst stone matched a dress she was wearing. Somehow everyone knew who she had married, which might have gotten out while Sweeney and Toby were garnering money for her wedding dress, but she was mystified as to how it was known that she'd been (gasp!) wearing white. She tried to ignore the snide comments she got whenever she left the pie shop, but on one particular occasion, about five days after her marriage to Sweeney, she'd returned from the market in tears. Sweeney had demanded she tell him who had made her cry and what had been said, but she'd refused, explaining that he would probably agree with some of the things that had hurt her feelings.

And there had been that one unfortunate nightmare. She hadn't had nightmares since the night Sweeney kissed her, as having him sleep beside her had done wonders. But about a week after she had married Sweeney, she had had a dream that had begun with him coming into their room and rousing her from her fraudulent sleep to kiss her. He'd taken her nightgown off and suddenly she wasn't lying on her mattress, but the cold floor of the bakehouse, surrounded by piles of Sweeney's other victims. She couldn't move. "Fooled you, pet," he whispered mockingly as he took the razor to her body. Slice, slice, and her breasts fell onto the floor, useless hunks of flesh. She felt the cold blade, but it didn't hurt. The razor dug unto the ruin that was her chest, cutting a straight line from her collarbone to her navel. He peeled away the tissue from her ribs and snarled angrily when confronted with her breastbone, which was too strong to be easily broken. Part of her almost wanted to tell him that he'd have to smash it with the handle of the razor, but mostly she wanted to scream "Love, please, why are you doin' this?" But in addition to being immobilized, she couldn't speak. So she lay there while he figured out how to break her ribcage and carved open her sides to expose the lungs, heart, stomach, other organs whose names she'd never been able to figure out. Due to the strange logic of dreams, the heart was still beating. He reached into the open cavity of her chest and pulled out the heart, which shivered in his hand, still pumping uselessly. The look in his eyes said he knew that the object in his hand had been ripped from Nellie's chest, but really belonged to him. He drove the razor through it, causing a jet of blood to hiss from the convulsing heart, and flung the destroyed thing aside. Then he set about cutting the muscle away from her bones, like she did with the corpses. "This is all your body is good for, my dear," he said to her almost sadly. "You're meat."

She had been thrashing when she woke from that nightmare. It had taken Sweeney a long, long time to calm her down. She'd been inconsolable, so he had unbuttoned her nightdress just enough to reach her back and petted her the way he knew she found comforting. He had no way of knowing it—she hadn't told him the events of the dream—but he had proved that her nightmare wasn't about to come true, and she had finally been able to relax. Again, Sweeney had demanded to know what had upset her so much, but she refused to tell him until the following morning when she had calmed down, and when she did tell him what the nightmare was about, she told him it started with her lying paralyzed on the bakehouse floor and left out the bit where he'd kissed and undressed her.

"What do you think it means? That you're still afraid of me?"

"It was just a dream, love. Dreams don't 'ave to mean somethin'. Two nights ago I dreamed that an army of ants carried off all me furniture and tossed it into the Thames. What do you think that means?"

"What about those dreams that kept waking you up after you killed the Judge? Your nightmares tend to be…significant."

"Well, I 'ad many of those about the Judge. I wouldn't worry about this one unless it starts comin' back."

Nellie had been rather ashamed of that incident; not only had she woken during the night in a rather embarrassing panic, but when she'd gotten up the following morning, she'd been mostly exposed from the waist up due to Sweeney undoing her nightgown to reach her back. She could only hope that he hadn't had the misfortune of seeing her like that; thankfully she'd been the first to wake as usual and had been able to cover herself.

Sweeney wasn't having the easiest time of his marriage either. He'd been trying to rid himself of his fifteen-year habit of completely quashing his sex drive, and Nellie wasn't helping. During first week together, she'd made a noticeable effort to tacitly convince Sweeney that she wasn't trying to seduce him. She didn't own many dresses with high necklines, but she started wearing them. She was much less reserved about kissing him whenever she wanted, but she would back off quickly if things got too heated. And of course there was that stunt with her always going to bed before him and pretending to sleep when he came into the room. She always "slept" close to the edge of the bed facing away from him, and within a few days he started to miss stroking her back as she fell asleep. Her nightmare (and it had been a hell of a nightmare, poor woman, judging from her reaction and her later description of the dream) had afforded him the opportunity to touch her back again, even if it was only to comfort her. After she fell asleep—he felt slightly guilty after this, but only slightly, since he was sure Nellie wouldn't have minded had she been awake—he had gently worked the sleeves of the nightgown down her arms and rolled her onto her back. This had allowed him, perhaps ironically, to see the parts of her body he'd mutilated in her dream (with the exception of her heart, of course). He had liked what he'd seen and, when Nellie had told him the events of the nightmare the following day, had come very close to saying he would be loath to cut up something so pretty. Instead he had reiterated his promise not to hurt her before asking what she thought the dream meant. She denied it meant anything, but Sweeney was convinced that the opposite was true. That nightmare made Sweeney want to show Nellie that she was desirable more than ever.

It was after that first week that she finally stopped her pretending-to-sleep ruse. In actuality, she'd been planning to stop it that night, but Sweeney had beaten her to it by walking into their bedroom as she'd been fastening up her nightdress.

"Bloody Jesus, Sweeney, would you knock first? If you'd walked in a second earlier, I wouldn't've been decent."

"Would you hide from your own husband, pet?"

"Only to protect 'im from seein' somethin' 'e never wanted to see." Nellie pulled her arms from the sleeves and twisted the garment around so the buttons ran down her back.

"How do you know you need to 'protect me,' as you put it?"

"It's a big leap from deplorin' somebody to wantin' to see them unclad, and I don't expect you've 'ad time to make that leap," she said bluntly.

"Like I said, Nellie, how do you _know_? Have I ever told you this?"

"If you include a few months ago in 'ever,' yeah. For about two weeks there your favorite insult was 'Nobody wants to see that much of that pasty body of yours, whore' whenever I wore a low-cut bodice."

"You know I didn't mean that." He took her in his arms. "Did I really call you a whore when I said it?"

"Only once. Usually you stopped at the 'yours.' And sometimes you'd say 'ugly' instead of 'pasty.'"

"You remember this well."

"Well, it 'urt me feelin's."

"You're not ugly, Nellie. Far from it."

"To sound like you, 'ow do you know?" She nestled her head under his chin. Their embraces seemed to last longer than the average hug, but Nellie loved it.

He pressed his fingertips deeply into the low of her back and made circles, eliciting a shiver from her. "You have a nice back."

"Yeah, I noticed that now that you've got no Judge to obsess over, you're obsessed with me back. Why is that?"

An opportunity for Sweeney to practice his conversational skills—joy. "Because…because you're strong. But you're also feminine. It's…it's obvious you've got a woman's back, but you're strong. It's…interesting."

"Interesting. Not beautiful."

"Well, I didn't say that…I…I mean…"

"I know, sweet. I'm just givin' you a 'ard time." She laughed softly. "So me back's beautiful, eh?"

"So is the rest of you."

"Now, come on, dear, I know you don't look at me like that."

Actually, in the past week, he'd been trying to. "Sometimes I do."

"Really?" She sounded genuinely surprised. "Well…why?" She pulled back from his embrace and watched him with her arms folded.

Sweeney swallowed hard. This was a topic he'd hoped could be resolved with actions rather than words, but there was no way out now, not without hurting Nellie's feelings again. "It's hard to say."

Nellie, for once in her life, said nothing.

"I…never thought you were beautiful before, but I thought maybe if…if…"

"If you paid more attention to me, you'd think I was beautiful?"

"Yes."

"And…why do you need to think I'm beautiful? 'Cause we're married now?"

"Something like that."

"Well, what is it exactly? I can't 'ear your thoughts, dear, so you'll 'ave to spell it out for me."

"Do you really think…do you really think our marriage will never be consummated?" That might have been the most difficult thing Sweeney Todd had ever said.

Nellie blinked in surprise. "If…if that's what you want, yeah."

"Is that what you want?"

She snickered. "What do you think?"

"I don't think that's what you want, so…"

"Sweeney…" she cut him off. "Didn't I say I'd never try to make do somethin' you didn't want to?"

"I was hopin' you wouldn't have to make me."

"Oh." She paused, her eyes widening a bit. "That would be why you're tryin' to convince yourself I'm pretty."

"Yes. Yes, that would be why."

"So…'ow's it workin'?" she queried, a bit warily.

"It's workin'."

"Eh…well, you let me know when it works well enough for you to want me." She kissed him, but her tone spoke volumes about what a miniscule chance she thought that had of ever happening.

"Nellie…"

"Let's just go to sleep, all right? It's been a long day. Me back's achin' something fierce. I ain't as young as I used to be."

"I can do somethin' about that. Lie down."

Nellie lay on her stomach. Sweeney undid the buttons on her nightgown. "Maybe I ought'a just leave me nightdresses unbuttoned."

"Maybe. Where does it hurt?"

"The middle, mostly, and a little lower."

Sweeney applied his firm barber's touch to the center of Nellie's back. "Is that the right spot?"

"Mmm."

"Does your back really hurt, or did you just want me to massage you?"

"It really 'urts, but does it matter?" She sighed. "It's stopped achin' there; can you go lower?"

"Yes." He dug his fingertips into Nellie's lower back, earning a low groaning sound from her. "Does that hurt?"

"A little, but it'll make the ache go away in a tick. Mm…that's better."

Supposedly he had already cured Nellie's pains, but he kept kneading the flesh of her lower back because she kept whimpering or moaning softly in response. If she was enjoying it, he didn't want to stop. "Pet, are you all right?"

"That feels good…" she breathed.

Yes, she was in heaven. Sweeney wondered if he'd ever stop marveling at how he could send her to cloud nine by giving her a simple back massage after a long day laboring in the pie shop. He glanced at her face; her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted, an expression of complete bliss. She felt his gaze or perhaps just chose that moment to look up at him, and she smiled.

Sweeney kissed her even before he could think of restraining himself. He felt her arms wrap around him and she pulled him over to her, maneuvering herself beneath him. Her hands stole down to the hem of his nightshirt and pushed it up to allow her fingers to explore his back, as if to reciprocate for the massage he'd just given her. Suddenly she stopped kissing him and let out a little gasp, looking wide-eyed into his face. "Sweeney…what…?" Her palms slid over his back and her expression became more alarmed. "You're all covered in scars!"

"Yes, well, that's what happens in a prison colony." Sweeney was torn between irritation and relief that the mood had been interrupted. If he and Nellie were going to do anything beyond kissing each other, he would prefer that the act be more, well, premeditated. He was, after all, prone to laying detailed plans before doing anything.

"But why would they beat you? Benjamin Barker'd never act out, even at a prison colony, and even Sweeney don't seem like a…a…hell-raiser."

"They beat us just to make sure we knew who was in charge…and what we as prisoners were worth," he said bitterly, his eyes darkening.

"Show me," she whispered.

Sweeney sat up and pulled his nightshirt off, twisting to give Nellie a full view of his back. He heard her give a choked little gasp and looked over his shoulder; she had recoiled from the sight of his marred back and was covering her face with her hands, peeking through the spaces between her fingers. He could see her eyes, which were filled with guilty disgust. He faced forward again, feeling a bit hurt that she found the sight of some part of him revolting. _Now you know how she feels_, he told himself.

"Nellie, if you can't look…"

"No! I wan'na see what they did to you!"

He felt her fingertips lightly brush his shoulderblade and then retreat. "Oh, God…"

Sweeney cleared his throat. "I've…never seen the damage."

"It's just 'orrid. I can't…I can't even see skin in places, only…only the scars." She gingerly pressed a palm against the same place she had touched before, one thumb tracing the raised edge where the blade of his shoulder jutted out slightly.

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like they beat you over…and over…and over…" Her hand slid up to his neck and then down to the low of his back. No one had ever touched his scars before. The scarred tissue felt both numb and hypersensitive at the same time; Nellie's touch tingled more and tickled less than it would normal skin. "Some of the scarred…flesh is…it looks like there're scars on top of the scars, it's so thick…it looks…it looks like somebody put your skin through me meat grinder!" Both her hands were traveling over his back now. Her callused palms felt marvelous against his tortured flesh. His scars were too chaotic and layered over each other for her to trace them the way he did the delicate scars on her face, so she tried to cover every inch of his damaged back with her kind touch. "Sweeney…'ow often did they beat you?"

"Often. Sometimes every day. Sometimes once a week. It was random. They kept us afraid."

"You're so beautiful." He was fairly sure she hadn't exactly meant to say that; it had slipped out and was so quiet he could barely hear her. "It's awful what they did to you, but ruinin' somethin' so beautiful…" She moved closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder. "I'm sorry about earlier, love. It ain't you that's disgusting. It's what they did to you."

He took Nellie's hand. Having her softness pressed against his back was very comforting, but suddenly he wanted more. He twisted around within her embrace, pulled her into his lap. His head ended up resting against the curve of her neck. She continued stroking his scars and he thought he felt her leaving kisses in his hair.

"Nellie, not that this isn't comfortable, but…"

"What? What's wrong?"

"I believe I wasn't finished kissin' you."

* * *

When Nellie woke the next morning, the first thing she noticed was that her movement was restricted. She panicked for a moment before she realized why she couldn't move freely; Sweeney had fallen asleep using her chest as a pillow. She reached up and caressed his hair, gently enough that it wouldn't wake him. For a moment she imagined lying there with Sweeney until he woke, but she had to get up and start breakfast. Although…how the hell was she supposed to get up without waking him?

Moving inch by stealthy inch, Nellie squirmed out from underneath Sweeney. He was not too heavy, but he was certainly not light, and it was slow, difficult going, much less appealing than lying there close to him. She worked her upper body free and guided Sweeney's head into the crook of her arm, then onto the pillow. He made a sound somewhere between a snort and a grumble and rolled over, taking his weight off of her. She gasped; she hadn't realized he was putting so much pressure on her lungs. Nellie carefully maneuvered herself off the mattress and onto the floor. When she'd gotten to her wardrobe, she looked over at him at saw that he was still asleep.

Her hands shook a bit as she picked a dress and undergarments from her wardrobe; she was thinking about the previous night. Technically, all she and Sweeney had done was kiss, but…she shivered as she remembered his hands moving over her. She made fists in the fabric of the stockings she was pulling on, trying not to think about how his firm chest and tortured back had felt under her searching palms. They hadn't been kissing for too long when she'd had to beg him to stop; her mind knew all they were planning to do was kiss, but the rest of her thought otherwise, and she'd pulled away from Sweeney and curled herself into a ball to wait until she no longer felt the ache of her yearning for him. When the feeling had passed and she uncurled herself, lying flat on her back, she'd thought he was asleep. But he was awake, and he pulled her near him, kissed her goodnight and promptly went to sleep with his ear pressed against her heart. She thought he understood. She hoped he did. She'd been too ashamed to explain.

She gave a stifled gasp; she was working on the laces of her corset, and she hadn't been paying attention and had tightened them too much. Grumbling to herself, she reached back to loosen the ties before tying them off again and continuing to dress, still trying to avoid thinking about the previous night.

"Need assistance, pet?"

"Bloody 'ell!" She started. "Sweeney, you gave me such a fright."

He swung the wardrobe door all the way open so it wouldn't be in their way. Mercifully, he'd replaced his nightshirt and was no longer bare-chested. "This damn door. You're still hidin' from me."

"I've been usin' that door to keep you from seein' me change ever since you first started sleepin' in 'ere. I don't think about it anymore." Nellie pulled her dress over her head and squirmed her arms into the sleeves.

"Let me help."

"Oh, you don't 'ave to."

"But I think I will."

"Ain't that what you said when I told you didn't 'ave to kiss me durin' our wedding?" Nellie smiled as Sweeney walked behind her to fasten up the back of her gown.

"Something like that. How do you do this by yourself?" Sweeney was struggling with the fastenings.

"Practice. I got really flexible shoulders now."

"I can imagine…there you are."

Nellie faced him. "Thanks, love." She reached up to hold his face in both her hands. "It weren't too long ago that I used to think I'd never get a kiss from you."

He kissed her. "Things have changed."

"For a while there, I was countin'." She smiled rather sheepishly and laughed at her own childishness.

"Countin'? You mean, countin' how many times I kissed you? Why?"

"I didn't know 'ow many I'd get before you, I don't know…lost interest." Nellie averted her eyes.

"Do you still think I'll 'lose interest' in you?"

"I worry a bit."

Sweeney took her by the chin and lifted her face so she'd have to look at him. "Nellie, I…"

"Mum?" They both looked up. Toby was standing in the doorway. "Oh…m'sorry. Mum, I just noticed you ain't made breakfast yet."

"I'll get right to it, dear. Just a moment."

"All right." Toby shuffled off.

"Toby's right. I got'ta get to work on our breakfast. Why don't you go upstairs and change?"

"We should move my things down here."

"Yeah…all right." _So we'll be changin' clothes in the same room? Bloomin' 'ell…is 'e tryin' to torture me? _"I'll 'elp you with that, maybe sometime after we've both closed up shop."

Sweeney went upstairs; Nellie began whipping up breakfast.

"Mum?"

"What is it, dear? Do you wan'na 'elp?"

"Well…yeah, I do, but…"

"Somethin' troublin' you, Toby?"

He nodded. "Well…now that you and Mr. Todd are married…I'm worried you're gon'na forget about me."

"No!" Nellie cried, laying down her wooden spoon. "Toby, you're me son! Whatever makes you think I'm gon'na forget about you?"

Toby was blinking back tears. "I've seen you with 'im. You look like 'e's all that matters to you. And you forgot I wanted to be your apprentice."

"Oh, Toby…" Nellie mentally kicked herself. She had by no means forgotten that Toby wanted to become her apprentice, but she should have asked Sweeney if he was ready to stop killing so there'd be no corpses in the bakehouse when she took Toby down there to learn. "I ain't forgotten you want to be me apprentice! Especially not after you've been 'elpin' me in the kitchen. I just ain't ready to take you on yet. But Mr. Todd ain't gon'na replace you! You're me son; 'e's me husband. You can't replace one with the other."

"Really?" He was starting to cry outright.

"Oh, come 'ere." She came out from behind the counter and held out her arms to her son. Toby walked over to her and accepted her tight embrace. "No reason to cry, dear. I'll always be 'ere for you. You know that, don't you?"

She felt him nod.

"Nellie?" Sweeney had come downstairs. "What's wrong?"

"Toby's a bit upset about something, but 'e'll be all right." Gently, she let her son go. "Won't you?"

"Yes, Mum."

"All right, then. I'll just fix breakfast, shall I?"

* * *

The day passed normally. That evening, Nellie and Sweeney closed their respective shops half an hour earlier than usual so they'd have time to move Sweeney's things downstairs. All they had to move were two boxes containing his belongings, but thanks to Nellie he had accrued a large amount of new clothes, and the box of his clothing was rather large and heavy. They carried it down the stairs first; Sweeney had long ago become strong enough to endure the hard labor required of a prisoner in Botany Bay, and he expected Nellie to ask if they could stop and rest during the task, but she didn't. As a result, the transportation of Sweeney's possessions downstairs went much more quickly than expected. Though Nellie hadn't complained, the work had been harder than she was used to, and she immediately changed out of her heavy layers into a light nightdress.

Nellie was flitting around the pie shop kitchen cleaning up when Sweeney made a decision. He'd been watching her and meditating on the previous night. Though all he'd intended to do was kiss her, he had been disappointed when she had asked him to stop. And he'd seen the look on her face when she recoiled from him; she'd been embarrassed, ashamed that she wanted him. On some level, she was still afraid he found her undesirable. He hated seeing her feel like that. He didn't want to see her feel like that anymore.

"Well, I think that's about it," Nellie sighed as she dropped a few baking implements into a drawer and banged it shut with her hip. She felt rather inclined to take some tea as a reward for unusually hard work that night and was pondering whether it was worth the effort to make herself a cup when she noticed Sweeney had walked up behind her and rested his hands on her waist. She sighed again, a contented sigh, not an exasperated one. "Evenin', sweet."

"Nellie, why did you stop me from kissin' you last night?"

"'Cause I wanted you so bad it 'urt. I 'ad you to ask you to stop 'fore it drove me mad."

"I _am _your husband, you know—you could have asked me to not stop."

"Yeah, well, I told you I'd never ask you for anything you didn't want to give and I intend to keep that promise."

Sweeney's hands slid to Nellie's hips and he touched his mouth to her neck. "You don't have to ask."

She twisted her head around. "What?"

"I'll ask you." His palms slid over her, slowly. "What do you say, pet? Will tonight be the night I finally convince you I think you're beautiful?"

"You don't think I'm beautiful. I know you don't." Her breath hitched. "Stop that."

"I don't want to."

"Didn't you get your fill last night?" Instinctively, she pressed her back against him. He thought he heard her stifle a whimper.

"You didn't."

She tilted her head back. "Sweeney, if tonight ain't gon'na be the night, you'll 'ave to stop touchin' me like that."

"I think I'll leave the decision up to you. Yes or no, pet?" He wrapped his arms around her waist.

She closed her eyes.

"Nellie?"

"Is this a trap?"

"No."

"Do you mean it?" Her voice was shaking so hard it took him a few seconds to realize what she was saying.

"Yes."

She took a deep breath. "Sweeney, I want you."

He swiveled her around to face him. "All right, then." He kissed her hard and within seconds her hands were scrambling for the buttons on his shirt and he had her pressed against the wall, her legs hiked up around his waist. He growled with frustration against her mouth as he tried to work his hand in between their bodies to reach the fastenings of her nightdress.

"Wait," she gasped, tilting her head back.

"You say that far too much," he snarled, but when she extricated herself from his grip, grabbed his hand and practically dragged him to their bedroom, he realized that she really had no intention of waiting.

Standing by the bedside, she yanked her loosened nightgown over her head and let it fall to the floor. Sweeney gave himself a few seconds to gaze at her and whisper "Bloody hell" before picking her up and kissing her again while her hands worked at his clothing with incredible deftness. He pinned her to the mattress, whispering in her ear to assure her he wasn't going to hurt her, he just wanted her _now_…

She cried out when they joined, years of longing relieved at last. She wrapped herself around him, clutching him to her, as if even then she feared losing him. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, his mind flooded with feelings long forgotten, Nellie's cries in his ear urging him on. Their pace was frantic, desperate, hungry, as if the blade of madness hovered over both their heads, threatening to descend unless satisfaction came soon. They clawed at each other, fighting to push themselves over the brink, struggling, yearning…

When at last they lay still, Nellie somehow found the energy to thread her fingers through Sweeney's sweat-damp hair, whispering to him. Nearly asleep, he listened.

"Sweeney…I love you…so much…"

He didn't know what to say back. He cared about her, she was special to him…but he didn't love her. But there were plenty of kind things he could say, right? "Nellie, I…"

"Shh." She touched a finger to his lips. "I don't need to 'ear it. You don't 'ave to lie for me." She slid out from underneath him and he reached for her instinctively, wanting her to stay close to him.

"Nellie…what are you doin'?"

She was using the sheets to dry the sweat from her body. "Just didn't think it'd be too comfortable for us to cuddle all 'ot and sweaty, that's all."

Sweeney groaned. "You are _frighteningly _practical."

"And you don't 'ave the energy to move, it looks like," she grinned.

"Stop gloatin'…you insanely energetic…thing." he grumbled.

"I'm only teasin' you, love." She lay down beside him again.

"Come here." He moved just enough to rest his head on her chest the way he'd done the night before. "You feel good, pet," he muttered.

She craned her neck forward to kiss the top of his head. "So do you." She laughed softly. "Good night, dear."

He was already asleep.

* * *

A/N: About time, you two. Yeah, for an M-rated story, the lemon was laughably T-rated, but it sounded a lot more explicit in my repulsed asexual head.

This chapter was actually intended to be part of a chapter called "Steps Forward, Steps Backward", which consisted of chapters 12 and 13, but it got way too long. And hopefully I'll get twice as many reviews as I would have for only one chapter (wink wink).


	13. Steps Backward

Blade of Madness

Chapter Thirteen: Steps Backward

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, Sweenett

Author's Notes: Not the happiest chapter, but it's Sweeney Todd—it can't be all sunshine and rainbows.

* * *

When Sweeney woke the following morning the first thing he realized was the pillow upon which his head lay was less comfortable than Nellie's chest which, if he remembered correctly, had been serving as his pillow when he'd fallen asleep. He reached for her, but his hands met only empty air. Somehow that damnable woman had squirmed out from under him while he was sleeping two mornings in a row.

Sweeney stumbled out of bed and pulled his nightclothes back on. He vaguely thought he heard a sizzling sound coming from the kitchen, which probably meant that Nellie was making flapjacks. He walked to the kitchen's entryway and watched Nellie at the stove. She was dressed in a moderately elaborate scarlet gown whose color was so dark it was almost black, and her hair, hopelessly mussed after the previous night, had been taken out of its plaits and tied behind her head with a simple white ribbon. Her frizzy hair, which he had once found annoyingly wild but now knew to be quite pleasant to touch, made a reddish halo around her head. He stood gazing at her for quite a while, until she turned away from the stove carrying the pan of flapjacks.

"Mornin', Sleepin' Beauty. Did you 'ave a nice long rest?" She grinned at him.

"How the hell did you get up without wakin' me?"

"You were out cold, sweet. It weren't no trick. Why don't you sit down? Breakfast is nearly ready."

Instead of taking her suggestion, Sweeney followed her to the counter where she was sliding the flapjacks onto plates. He wrapped his arms around her tightly. She laughed. "Why so affectionate this mornin', dear?"

"Are you complainin'?"

"You know I ain't! I'm just curious."

"I just felt like holdin' you."

"Where is Toby? Usually 'e's awake by now."

"Are you makin' the cinnamon-and-spice ones?"

"Yeah."

"I'll tell him. That'll get him up."

"Aw, thanks, love." She grinned at him. Before he walked off, he kissed the damaged corner of her mouth.

The boy was sound asleep on the loveseat he used for a bed. "Boy." Sweeney slapped an open palm against the back of the loveseat. "Toby. Get up."

Toby rolled over and made a sound of protest.

"Your mother's makin' flapjacks. With cinnamon."

The boy's head shot up. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Ungh…all right." He rolled off of the loveseat and got up groggily.

"Me two men in their sleepwear," laughed Nellie as they came into the kitchen. "Sit you down, both of you. Breakfast is ready." She walked over to the table, carrying a plate loaded with still-steaming flapjacks. Sweeney was abruptly struck by the way she moved: awkwardly, a little stilted, as if she were in pain and trying to lessen it by not moving certain muscles.

"Nellie, did I hurt you last night?"

Toby's sleepy eyes, peeking over the rim of his breakfast tea mug, suddenly began to glare at Sweeney.

"No, of course you didn't," Nellie assured him. As she sat beside him, she whispered in his ear: "Sweeney, think about 'ow long it'd been for me, except for the night me shop was robbed. 'Course it 'urt me a bit—just weren't your fault." She kissed his cheek. "Last night was lovely."

"What was last night?" Toby's brow furrowed.

"Nothin' that would interest you, dearie," said Nellie breezily. "Now, would you like me to get some powdered sugar for your flapjacks?"

* * *

Sweeney had trouble focusing on work that morning. He had no problem restraining himself from killing his customers, because it wasn't rage that was on his mind. He kept thinking about the previous night and how he hoped the events of that night would be repeated soon. The image of Nellie practically tearing her own nightdress off was lodged in his brain; in retrospect, instead of going to surreptitious lengths to examine her closely enough to want her, he should have just asked her to undress.

Jittery with impatience, he came all too close to nicking a few of his customers—the ones he was letting live (which, these days, was most of them). When Nellie came upstairs with his afternoon meal, she hadn't even finished saying "Brought you your dinner, love" before he started undressing her. A bit later, huddled close under the sheets of Sweeney's cot, they both reluctantly agreed it would be best to restrict such activities to the evenings when they weren't supposed to be attending to their customers.

"I should go…I told Toby I wouldn't be long." Nellie made as if to get up.

"Don't go." He tightened his grip on her. Almost more comforting than the act itself was lying close to her afterwards, when she would stroke his hair and whisper kind things to him, when it felt like they were the only two people in existence and he could forget the shithole that was the rest of world—not that he would admit that in a thousand years. He chose to articulate that by being upset that she wanted to leave. She was the female, dammit—wasn't she the one who was supposed to want to cuddle, and he could go along with it while secretly enjoying it immensely?

"We'll 'ave all night, dear, and you can wait until then, eh? Didn't I teach you nothin' about patience? No…you weren't listenin' then, I'm sure." She pried his arms away from her and got up, immediately setting about dressing herself. He watched her fuss with petticoats, drawers, a chemise…

"Why do you wear so many bloody layers?"

"Why do you ask, 'cause it took you too long to get 'em off me? 'elp me lace me corset, would you?"

He sat up and worked at the ties of Nellie's corset.

"Not too tight, love, I do need to breathe a bit. Unless you're plannin' on makin' me faint so you'll 'ave an excuse to take it off again."

"How do you do this by yourself?"

"Practice."

"Is that too tight?"

"That's fine. Thanks, dear." She got up and pulled her dress over her head, lacing it up the back herself.

"You _do _have flexible shoulders…"

"Sweeney, I didn't ask you to 'elp me with me dress 'cause I wanted you to 'ave time to get yourself dressed. I'm about to 'ead downstairs now and I'll be turnin' the sign on your door back to 'open,' so you'd better be decent by the time a customer walks in."

Sweeney's brow furrowed. "I never turned the sign to the 'closed' side."

"Well, that'd be because I did. Lucky thing, too, 'cause I didn't particularly want one of your customers walkin' in while we were…occupied."

"But…you…I…"

"I 'ad the same idea as you did. You just beat me to it." She grinned at him.

"Get out, you wanton creature," he snarled, but they both knew he was teasing.

"I'll see you when you bring you your supper, but this time let's wait 'til bedtime, all right?" She was walking out the door, and suddenly Sweeney was rather embarrassed that he was still naked. Nellie's eyes flickered to the tray of food she'd brought upstairs earlier. "And eat your dinner before it goes any colder."

"I will," he groused.

She left. Sweeney got up and dressed himself, then went to his work surface to mix a new batch of lather. He almost started when he saw the picture of Lucy and Johanna resting on the tabletop. He'd known it was there, but…it made him feel cold and unsettled that Lucy's eyes had been in the room while he'd been there with Nellie…but what he'd been doing with Nellie didn't mean he was being unfaithful to Lucy. Lucy had been Benjamin Barker's wife; Sweeney Todd was a different man. Sweeney was Nellie's husband, for cripes' sake. And it was only an image, not the real Lucy. Even if the picture could see, he and Nellie had been behind the partition, in the other section of the room where Sweeney had until recently been keeping his belongings. Still, for the rest of the day, he kept glancing nervously at the photograph, or feeling guilty when he found himself remembering his and Nellie's earlier…diversion.

That night, it was a blessed relief to fall into Nellie's arms in the privacy of their bedroom, and under the cover of darkness as well. Sweeney felt oddly indebted to the nighttime for giving him the courage to hold Nellie while she slept. Their first kiss had been at night, too. The dark did strange and wonderful things to people. It became increasingly clear over the course of the week that night was when Nellie was at her most gentle and comforting, when Sweeney actually felt able to tell her if something had been troubling him and she found the perfect words to reassure him. If, months ago, someone had told Sweeney that he and Nellie would be in bed together and that Nellie had the capacity to be tender and consoling, he would have them individual to get some air holes drilled in their skull (prior to killing them, of course).

Sweeney was still plagued by that photograph of Lucy, despite the fact that he and Nellie now restricted their intimacy to the bed that they shared. He couldn't shake that niggling feeling of unfaithfulness whenever he looked at the picture. When he was with Nellie at night, his weary head pillowed against her heartbeat, her logic made so much sense; that no man but Benjamin was capable of being unfaithful to Lucy, that the real Lucy likely didn't even remember that she had been married, that he shouldn't dwell on Lucy at all because the thoughts caused him nothing but pain. But during the day, Nellie's reasoning seemed less like a rational assessment and more like a worn excuse.

It was about two weeks after their first time when Sweeney's feelings of disloyalty got out of hand. The sun was setting, and Nellie had finished closing the pie shop. Sweeney knew she was in their bedroom waiting for him, but he stood in the kitchen, gazing out the window in the direction of Fogg's Asylum for the Mentally Deranged.

"Sweeney?" Nellie walked into the room. "Love? What're you doin' in 'ere?"

He didn't answer or even look at her.

"Broodin' away at the window again. I thought we were past this." She went up to him and stroked his arm. "Enough of that. Come to bed." She kissed his shoulder. "Come with me."

She was not Lucy. Sweeney felt no desire for her. He pulled his arm away from her touch. "No."

"Well, that's all right—we've been at it every night since our first time, we can just cuddle if you want…" She slipped her hand into his and squeezed lightly.

"Would you get off me?" He shoved her. "I need air."

Sweeney was halfway down the street before he realized he had stormed out. He was, however, quite sure of his destination. He reached the doors of the asylum almost without thinking. An attendant answered the door; later, Sweeney would not recall exactly what he'd said to get himself inside—some babble about barbering, hair, wigs, tonsorial something-or-other—but he was allowed in. Unfortunately, Mr. Fogg was in the foyer, and this presented a bit of a problem.

"Mr. Sweeney Todd?" The man's slanted, oily brow furrowed. "I knew you kept a tonsorial parlor, but I was not aware you were involved in the wig business."

Instead of explaining, Sweeney merely gave Lucy's hair color and said that he required it immediately. Fogg, who recognized Sweeney both from Mrs. Lovett's pie shop and from when he brought Lucy to the asylum, looked suspicious, but Sweeney was obviously knowledgeable about hair color, so the barber was led to the blondes' room.

"Now…" Fogg drew out his scissors. "Which color did you say you needed again, sir?"

Sweeney wasn't listening. He was scanning the room for…

"Lucy!"

She was sitting in a corner, rocking herself back and forth, singing an aimless tune that sounded more like a whimper than a melody. He rushed to her side. "Lucy, it's me."

She cocked her head to one side. Her eyes rolled, settling on Sweeney's forehead. His throat closed; he'd forgotten how clouded and mindless her once-clear eyes were. "Do I know you, mister?"

Fogg coughed. "I take it you didn't come here for hair, sir."

"No," Sweeney whispered. "I came to see my wife."

"This…is your wife, sir?"

"Yes." He slipped his hand into Lucy's. She chortled like a schoolgirl.

"You know we do not grant entry to outsiders." Fogg's voice had suddenly lost its slick quality and was all rasp and harshness. "Especially those who use trickery to get to my children."

"I had to see her." His voice so quiet he didn't know if Fogg even heard him. "Lucy…I didn't betray you, I promise…"

Lucy made those painfully familiar little squealing noises that barely sounded like laughter. "Betray? Betray? What a sad thing to say, sir, what an awful sad thing to say!" The high-pitched giggles cut off abruptly. "Eh…what's yer name again, sir? Can't recall, no, me wits is wanderin', they is!"

Sweeney stood up, very slowly. He had half-expected the grim horrors of Bedlam to…to frighten Lucy into lucidity, make her realize that life at 186 Fleet Street had been so much better if only she could be well again…

"Mr. Todd, sir, you say this is your wife?"

The words were like a sharp slap across the face. Lucy was…had been…Benjamin Barker's wife. Sweeney Todd's wife was back at home, on Fleet Street, likely wondering why he wasn't there with her.

"She was." His voice shook. "But I couldn't…leave her here. I won't. I'll be back…you _will_ let me in."

Fogg made an irritated sound. "I do believe I said we do not…"

"And I said you _will _let me in!" Sweeney's hand flew to his razor, and in the blink of an eye the blade was pointed at Fogg. The asylum keeper was several meters away, and as such saw the weapon in Todd's hand as nothing more than a barbering implement.

"Why would I permit such a thing, sir?" sniffed Fogg.

_Because I will kill you if you don't_, Sweeney nearly said, but he caught himself. If Fogg promised to let Sweeney into Bedlam to see Lucy at a later date under pain of death, there was no way Sweeney could get to him if he reneged on the agreement. There was also no way for Sweeney to stop him going to the law. So he slipped the razor back into its holster. "Because my only intention is to look in on the well-being of my…of Lucy. I have no intention of harming any of the individuals here. My presence may also help your…" What was Fogg's word for the lunatics again? "…children to become used to the presence of strangers, so they are more likely to cooperate when the wigmakers come through. And I will tell no one of my visits here, so you will receive no other requests for entry due to the allowance of my entry."

"This is most irregular," mused Bedlam's keeper, stroking his chin.

Sweeney could think of nothing more to say but, "Please. I have to see Lucy, just once a week. To…to check up on her well-being."

"I can assure you, she is being well cared for."

"I need to see her. Your word is not enough."

"I must say I do not understand this need of yours. If she is no longer your wife…"

Sweeney burst out, "If I can't see her, I'll go mad myself!" His voice was thrown violently off the walls, much louder than he expected. Fogg blinked in surprise. "Please, I…I miss her."

"You are aware," hedged Fogg, "that she has no hope of recovery."

"I understand that." The words were almost impossible to get out, perhaps harder than the words he'd used to ask Nellie if she truly thought he didn't desire her. "And I must see it for myself, every week. I will come on Saturdays, after the sun has set." His voice was cold, convinced that everything it said was set-in-stone fact.

The keeper sighed heavily. "I suppose…an exception can be made. But I will be present for all of your…visits."

Sweeney struggled not to sigh with relief. It was not a Sweeney Todd thing to do, nor did he want to convey how worried he'd been that Fogg would not accept his terms. "I offer you my thanks, good sir."

"And I accept them. Now, if you'd be so kind, it would be best for you to leave. I will permit you entry, but a long stay is out of the question."

"Quite understandable," said Sweeney graciously, imagining his razor's blade singing through Fogg's wiry neck. He walked with the asylum keeper to the door.

"Mr. Todd, sir," said Fogg as Sweeney stepped outside. Sweeney glanced back at the irksome, greasy man. "I do suppose it might be good for one of my children to be looked out for." The words were spoke so grudgingly it sounded as if the sentence had been dragged through a pool of stinking mud.

"I am pleased you see it that way," replied the barber, barely able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Good evening, Mr. Fogg."  


* * *

Nellie Todd kept telling herself not to cry. She had known this was coming; as soon as the novelty of exercising his rights as her husband wore off, Sweeney wouldn't be interested anymore. She'd just expected to get more than two weeks, that was all. And she'd been blindsided by how sudden his change of heart was, as just last night he'd been like an adolescent schoolboy with his inability to wait until she was done tidying up her shop. As for tonight…if he was displeased with her, couldn't they talk about it?

She was also worried about what would happen when he got home. She was fairly sure he had gone to Fogg's Asylum to see Lucy, since he'd been bellyaching about how his marriage to Nellie made him disloyal to his first wife. Why he couldn't get it through his thick skull that it didn't matter because he'd married Lucy as Benjamin, she didn't know. She hoped that he'd see that Lucy wasn't even lucid enough to remember being married, and she would be able to console him when he came back…but there was always the chance that he'd really lost interest in her. If the latter was true, she could only hope he wouldn't be angry, because she didn't know if she could bring herself to use her rolling pin against him anymore.

Right now she was sitting on her bed, waiting. She'd left a pot of tea brewing in case Sweeney wanted some. And if chamomile wasn't enough to calm him down, there was always gin.

She heard the door to the pie shop swing open. Her heart pounded in her chest as if it were so afraid of what was going to happen, it wanted to escape. She forced herself not to think of the nightmare in which Sweeney had carved open her chest cavity and stabbed her heart.

He walked into the room. She quickly met his eyes, praying they wouldn't be burning with rage. He looked lost and confused, not angry.

"Evenin', dear," she hazarded.

He said nothing, but he walked to the bedside and sat down, still looking as if he didn't know where he was. She slipped her hand into his. "Sweeney?" He didn't move, so she cupped his face in her hands. "Sweeney? Do you know who I am?"

He looked up at her and recognition flickered in his eyes. "Nellie."

"That's right." She slid her arms around him; he leaned into her embrace and returned it, gripping her as tightly as their awkward position would allow. "Your Nellie's 'ere." She was kneeling, but he was sitting with his legs crossed and they both had to lean forward quite a bit in order to embrace each other. So Nellie climbed into his lap, lying sideways with an arm around his neck. He hooked one arm under the bends of her knees and supported her back with the other arm, then forcefully nuzzled her under the chin until her head was tilted all the way back and his face was nestled against her throat. "Sweeney, love, please tell me you ain't thinkin' about 'ow nice it'd be to cut the throat you're kissin'."

He made a sound of protest.

"Sweet? Are you all right? I've never seen you like this." The moment the words came out of her mouth, she realized they weren't true. She'd seen him act this way when he'd taken Lucy to Bedlam the first time. She reached up and caressed his hair with her free hand. "So…'ow was she?"

"The same." His voice was so hoarse she could barely understand him.

Nellie almost said "I'm sorry," but she really wasn't. If Lucy recovered, Sweeney would certainly leave her, that is if he didn't kill her. If he chose to kill her, it would probably be an act of mercy so she wouldn't have to see him happier with Lucy than he'd ever been with her, but still… "Really, sweet…did you expect any different? Or did you…need to see that she was the same?" Maybe he was comforted by the fact that Lucy was too witless to know her former husband was married again.

"I don't know."

"Well, did seein' 'er make you feel better? You're actin' like it didn't."

"It helped. In a way. But it also…didn't help."

If anyone more articulate than Sweeney had uttered that sentence, Nellie would have pronounced it nonsensical gibberish, but coming from him it actually made a sort of sense.

"Is there anythin' I can do?"

"This is good."

"What, just 'oldin' me? We could figure out somethin' more comfortable, if that's what you want…" The teakettle whistled sharply. "Oh, and I made you some tea. Would you like a cup?"

"You made me tea?"

"Yeah. D'you want some?"

"Mmhmm."

"I'll take that as a yes." Nellie carefully disentangled herself from Sweeney and went to the kitchen; she returned shortly with two steaming cups of tea. "You might want to let it cool, dear; it's still quite 'ot."

Sweeney took the tea, still wondering at this woman who he had spurned so abruptly earlier. Now she was comforting him and making him chamomile because she knew he was more upset than she. Since Sweeney tended to speak in actions rather than words, he chose to thank her by putting down his teacup and kissing her thoroughly.

"So I take it you ain't started thinkin' I'm ugly again," she remarked after he was done.

"I never thought you were ugly. And I don't think that now."

"Eh, well…" Nellie took a sip of her tea. "If you ain't decided I disgust you, what was so terrible about me it sent you runnin' to a madwoman what don't even remember your name?"

"It wasn't you, pet, I just…it was bad timin'. I'd been thinkin' of goin' to see her for a while."

"Why, to make sure she didn't 'ave 'er real eyes in that picture you got upstairs and didn't see us together?"

It sounded so ridiculous when she put it like that. "She doesn't know her husband has another woman. And it's not even her husband." Sweeney followed Nellie's example and started on his tea.

"See? There you go. Problem solved." Nellie smiled.

"I'll be goin' to see her once a weekend."

The smile vanished. "If that's what you really need to do, love, then…" Her mind finished, _Then I 'ope you'll be convincin' yourself she's too crazy to be upset about you marryin' me instead of wishin' you 'ad 'er back._ But what she said was, "I ain't plannin' on stoppin' you."

"I need…I need more time."

"Time to let go of 'er?"

He nodded.

"All right." Nellie finished off her tea and set her teacup and saucer on the night table; Sweeney did the same a few moments later. "Now what? You wan'na cuddle and we can talk about this some more? Or are you done talkin' and just wan'na sleep?"

Sweeney shook his head no.

"You'll 'ave to be more specific, love."

"I think we should pick up where we left off when you came into the kitchen and I was at the window."

Nellie gave him a confused look. Not that she disagreed, but that hadn't been what she expected. "You sure?" Then understanding passed over her face. "Ah. You wan'na forget all this for a bit before you work it out. Just need a little break, eh?"

"Yes. Please," he whispered.

"Oh, Sweeney…" she kissed him, and her hands went to the buttons of his shirt. "You know me; I'll 'elp you any way I can, and I can 'elp you forget, if just for a little while. Lie back, sweet, and let your Nellie take care of you."

* * *

A/N: Dammit, Sweeney. We all know you cling to the past too much, but come on. At least you've got Nellie to help you feel better.


	14. Care

Blade of Madness

Chapter Fourteen: Care

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, Sweenett

Author's Notes: It strikes me that considering this story takes place in the world of _Sweeney Todd_, this chapter is downright fluffy. Not obnoxiously so, I hope, but after everything I've put Sweeney and Nellie through I thought they deserved a little happiness. This chapter is a little on the long side, too, but there was no good place to break it up.

* * *

Sweeney's visits to Lucy became a weekly occurrence. He was always listless and pale when he returned, and Nellie was always waiting for him with a cup of tea, or blankets in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace, or just the comforts of her body and kind words. Nellie didn't know it, but those nights were when he felt the most grateful that he had her. Sometimes she would whisper as he fell asleep, "Do you think there'll ever be a time when you don't 'ave to go visit Lucy?"

Sometimes when she said that, he would mumble "I don't know" or "maybe." Sometimes he said nothing. Sometimes he kissed her. He still wasn't particularly articulate when it came to his feelings. Only occasionally when he was about to fall asleep, he'd whisper to her, something like "You're a wonder" or "What would I do without you?" It seemed to reassure Nellie that his need to visit the asylum every week wasn't a reflection on her. Still, on the night that he had made his first trip to Bedlam, it had seemed to Nellie that it was her desire for Sweeney that chased him out, and as a result she hadn't expressed that desire since. She left it up to Sweeney whether or not they were going to be intimate on any particular night. Sweeney, noticing the distinct lack of Nellie getting impatient and wrestling him into the barber chair and having her way with him on the nights when he spent a long time cleaning up the tonsorial parlor, quickly figured out what was going on. (Granted, she hadn't done that many times, but he quite missed it.) He wanted to tell her that nothing she'd done had caused him to want to see Lucy, but, being himself, he was unable to find the words.

He was cutting fewer throats than ever, now that Nellie was buying as much meat from the butcher as possible and he'd overheard Toby pestering Nellie about an apprenticeship. He didn't feel much of a need to kill anymore. He still raged against the human race, but it was only a snarling, fizzing feeling that spiked a bit when he noticed a particular example of human greed or cruelty or stupidity and vanished completely when he was with Nellie. Killing was something he did mechanically now, something that he'd begun doing as practice for his revenge and that had the auxiliary purpose of slaking his anger; without the first purpose, the second had faded to an afterthought, then less. His wrath, while mostly faded, did occasionally peak…

"Nellie. Please tell me you're done cleanin' up."

She had just finished replacing her cooking things in their drawers. "I'm done cleanin', but I still got that last body to chop up."

Sweeney growled and slammed his fist into the wall. The pictures shook.

"Or…I could wait to do that 'til later. Somethin' wrong, dear?"

"What _isn't _wrong in this bloody city?" he snarled.

"Could you be a bit more specific, love?"

He stormed into the room. "Do you ever watch them go by?" He pointed out the window.

"Them? Who? Our customers?"

"All of them. Everybody. They all look so…so mindless. Do they have any idea it could all be taken away from them, in one second?"

"Like what 'appened to you?" She went to him and slipped a hand into his.

"Yes."

She peered carefully into his face, which was contorted with rage. His eyes, though, had that abandoned, confused look that she had seen several times before. He looked almost as if he were about to cry.

"Their lives are nothing."

"Well, why does that bother you? Does it…does it make you wish that you'd known that back when you were Benjamin Barker?"

He shook his head. "No…I…maybe…I don't know."

She stepped closer and slipped her arms around his waist. "You just killed that fellow. That didn't 'elp you?"

"Killin' doesn't help anymore. Not much."

"So what do you need?"

He buried his face in her hair. "You."

"All right, then."

She took his hand and led him like a lost child to their bedroom. They fumbled with sheets and clothing for a few moments and then she was kissing him and stroking his hair, stifling her moans against his mouth as they moved together.

"Nellie…" he gasped, moving his lips to her neck as she tilted her head back. "You…are my…salvation…"

When they both lay quiet and sated, Sweeney maneuvered himself so he could listen to her heart for a bit before they talked about what was bothering him. He liked hearing the slowing of her racing heart; it was calming.

"I got'ta go chop up that body." She kissed the top of his head.

"What?" He locked his arms around her. "What're you talkin' about? You're not goin' anywhere."

"I said I 'ad one more body to cut up, didn't I? It takes three hours or thereabouts for a body to start goin' all stiff, and after that it's bloody 'ard to get a knife through. It's already been two hours, so…" She squirmed, but he was holding her so tightly she couldn't get away.

"I need you to stay."

"Why? You got what you wanted, and now I've got work to do."

"You know I need you to stay," he said, whispering.

"Sweeney, are you sayin' you need me to talk to you about what was troublin' you?" She began stroking his hair, not caring that it was damp and sweaty—it was his, and that was what mattered.

"Yes."

She laughed. "I was only teasin' you, dear. I know you need to talk; I just wanted to 'ear you say it."

"But I didn't say it."

"All right, I wanted to 'ear you _admit _it." Her hand slid from his hair and moved down his back, palm flat against the raised flesh of his scars. "Why do you think you need to be in bed with me 'fore you can talk?"

"I don't know." He kissed her collarbone and she felt a smile stretch his lips perhaps a centimeter or two. "Maybe I'd be able to talk more if you just went about naked…"

"_Sweeney!_" She struck the side of his head playfully. "I ain't even allowed to expose me ankles in public! Besides, even if you was bein' at all serious, who but you could look at me without coverin' their eyes?"

"Most men."

"Only if they was blind. God—I can't believe we're talkin' about this!" Nellie chuckled. "It's so nice to see you in a jokin' mood, though. You seem 'appy."

Sweeney thought about telling her she was beautiful, but she was right that most people would disagree with him on that point. Pretty women were those with neat, styled hair, dainty, even features, skin like porcelain in both color and fragility, and pampered bodies. Nellie had a working woman's body; she was mingled strength and femininity, instead of the fashionably lovely delicacy and grace. Before the arsenic contorted her face, nobody would have argued against the beauty of Lucy Barker; Sweeney still considered Lucy the most stunning woman he'd ever laid eyes on, but with his devoted, hard-working Nellie, there was something to be said for form fitting function. Lucy had been so light-bodied that Benjamin had always felt he had to be exquisitely careful with her; Sweeney Todd was not a gentle man, and Nellie did not require him to be one. She could be gentle, though, as she was proving right now, with her firm, callused hands caressing his shoulders, apologizing for the scratches she'd left there a few minutes before…

"Sweeney? Ain't you gon'na tell me what upset you today?"

Oh. Right.

He sighed. "Do you ever watch the people outside…goin' by, and such…and think about them?"

"Not really, dear, but it's soundin' like you do."

"They all scurry. Have you noticed that? They scurry along and stare at the ground, like…like roaches. They don't notice anythin'."

"Notice what?"

"Their lives. Everything could be taken away from them, at any second, and they've got no idea."

"What 'appened to 'the lives of the wicked should be made brief, and for the rest of us death will be a relief,' or whatever it was you said?"

"Most of them don't care or know their lives are shit. But some of them might be lucky enough to have a life that they don't want taken away."

Nellie made a little gasping sound as if she'd remembered something. "Like Benjamin Barker."

"Yes. Benjamin Barker was lucky."

She wrapped her arms around him, one hand threading its fingers through his hair again.

He moved so his face was half-nestled against her throat. "They all deserve to die," he growled. "Those of them that do have somethin' worth livin' for don't even know it."

"Or maybe they ought'a figure out they've got somethin' worth livin' for."

Sweeney grunted.

"Why does thinkin' about that make you sad, love?"

He closed his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe because of what happened to Benjamin. I remember what it was like to lose everything. It's as if…most people's lives are empty. Useless. And they have to…to try to fill up those worthless lives by takin' from those who've got somethin' worthwhile."

"Somethin' worthwhile, eh? You feel like you got somethin' worthwhile, Sweeney?"

"Do you?"

"I got you, don't I?"

She had _him_? She loved him, of course, but he wasn't particularly good to her. Mostly, he depended on her and she did a wonderful job taking care of him. How much could she really get out of knowing she could take care of him?

"And I got Toby, and I like 'avin' me own business. Not too many women do that, you know. What about you, sweet? I know Benjamin 'ad plenty, poor soul, but what does Sweeney Todd 'ave? Now don't you go sayin' you got me, 'cause I know it ain't true, and I don't like to think you're lyin' to me."

Sweeney sighed. He was grateful to Nellie for everything she did for him, but beyond that…what would he be doing if he didn't have her? He'd never thought about what he would do after he took his revenge on Judge Turpin. More than likely if he hadn't known Lucy was alive, he'd have tried to join her in death. If he didn't have Nellie but knew Lucy was alive, he'd probably still be devoted to taking care of Lucy.

"Sweeney…if you're stayin' alive 'cause you wan'na see Lucy every week, you can tell me."

"No. That's not it."

"Is there somethin'?"

"I don't know. I'd just…rather be alive than dead."

"You?" She smiled. "Mister 'death will be a relief?' You'd rather be alive than dead?"

"Yes." Sweeney paused. "You help."

Nellie, too, didn't answer for a few seconds. "Do I?"

_Yes. Yes, you do, pet._ "If you weren't here, I wouldn't even have a place to live, and Turpin and the Beadle would likely still be alive."

"What if I were 'ere, but you still couldn't stand me? Well…I suppose you would'a just killed me by now."

"If you hadn't told me Lucy was alive, I would…I would probably be dead."

She stopped touching his hair and tightened her arms around him. "So it _is _Lucy that keeps you goin'."

"Not anymore."

"So…what is it now?"

"I…I haven't thought on it."

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad for it," Nellie whispered and kissed the top of his head.

"What would you do if I were dead?"

"Same thing Lucy tried to do," she replied without hesitation. "I wouldn't wan'na live without you."

"What?" He sat up on his elbows. "That's ridiculous. You don't need me. I know you; you don't need anybody. You can take care of yourself just fine. And what about Toby?"

She smiled grimly. "I never said I _couldn't _live without you. I said I _wouldn't _wan'na do it. And it'd be a mercy for poor Toby if I killed meself after you were dead. I'd be a…a disaster on two feet if I lost you. Maybe I could convince meself I wanted to keep goin' even knowin' what I was missin' what with you gone…but I'd lay odds Toby'd end up takin' care of me while I tried to convince meself you were still alive, then when I started really actin' like you were still there, the poor boy would 'ave to watch me get locked up in Bedlam."

"Do you really think that?"

"Yes."

"You could find someone else."

She found that so amusing that she spent the next minute or so paralyzed with laughter. "Find…someone else?" she gasped out when she could breathe. "You can't mean that! Even if I found someone who could measure up to you, 'e wouldn't look twice at me 'cept to wonder what 'appened to me face. I'm old, I'm scarred, I'm barren, I bloody well ain't pretty…who'd want me? I ain't killin' no more people to convince somebody I deserve a chance." She burst out giggling again. "Find someone else. Oh, Sweeney…you can be right funny sometimes."

All he could think of to say was, "Well…I'm…I'm sorry I…" which was really not much worth saying.

"It ain't your fault I'm mad in love with you. God knows you tried to stop me lovin' you."

He kissed her.

"I appreciate that, love, but I really got'ta go cut up that body you left me."

"All right," he grumbled. "If you _insist_." He slid off of her so she could get up.

"Listen to you whinin'. You're as bad a two-year-old sometimes." She stood up with a pained groan. "You really did a number on me, sweet."

"Did I hurt you?" Considering her indomitable nature, he kept forgetting it was possible for him to hurt her. The image of a small, accidental cut on her neck surfaced in his mind, and he pushed the memory away.

"Not too much. I don't mind; I'll just be a bit sore tomorrow."

He never would have been so careless with Lucy. Of course, that was because he got the impression he didn't need to be particularly gentle with Nellie, but if he was hurting her… "Does it always hurt you?"

"Always? Oh, no—'course not. Just when you're really upset."

"So…is…is that why you screamed?"

She laughed outright. "No, dear, _that _would be 'cause you make me see stars. So you know the pain don't bother me too much, eh?" She kissed him. "I'll try to 'urry."

"All right." Something struck him. "Nellie, wait?"

"What is it?" She looked up from the floor, where she'd knelt to pick up her fallen clothes.

"If I just hurt you now…that night you were attacked…"

"I could barely walk for three days. I was drinkin' laudanum like an addict."

And he could have stopped what happened to her. "Then…why didn't I notice?"

"I'm not sure—I'm certain you would've liked to see I was 'urtin'."

She dressed quickly, in only her chemise—apparently she couldn't work in all her usual layers, and didn't want to wear her nightdress because then it would smell of the bakehouse—and went out. Sweeney rolled over and tried to sleep, but he missed Nellie's warm presence huddled close to him and decided to wait to fall asleep until she returned. Then again, it might be awhile before she came back; Sweeney didn't know how long it took to cut all the useful meat from a human body, but surely it wasn't a quick task. Suddenly he realized he knew very little about the grisly work his baker did to conceal his crimes; he might as well take a look. Besides, he remembered when she was cutting herself, that she'd been doing it inadvertently to feed her hallucinations of the Judge coming to life in every body she cut up; he wasn't sure if she still suffered those troubling visions, but if she did, maybe his company would help. So he got up and dressed himself, and went down to the bakehouse.

Nellie had opened the oven door for light and was sitting in the hot red glow, bent over the half-dissected meat source on the floor. She'd already severed the head and limbs, and the body lay in pieces, still arranged in a generally humanoid shape. She had the torso supine and was deftly slicing away at the muscle of the back.

The stench was unbelievable.

Nellie looked up when she heard his footsteps. "Sweeney? What…what're you doin' down 'ere? I thought you'd be asleep."

"I've never seen you chop up a body before. I thought…I thought I'd watch."

Her eyebrows went up. "I can't believe you'd brave this stink willingly."

His stomach was indeed roiling with disgust at the rank, sickly organic smell of burning and rotting flesh. "I didn't think it would smell so disgusting." He wrinkled his nose. "How do you stand it?"

"Easy—I tore up an old 'andkerchief and stuck the little pieces of cloth up me nose, so now I can't smell nothin'." She grinned. "I won't be offended if you wan'na go back upstairs and get away from the stink."

Of course, wanting to get away from the stench would be a sign of weakness. And Sweeney, being male, did not want to show weakness in front of a woman. Oh, he could show real vulnerability to her sometimes, but being driven away by a bad smell was just…silly. So he went to Nellie, hoping to sit near enough to her that he could bury his face in her hair; being a barber, he liked the smell of hair, especially the hair of a woman he cared about. He sat behind her, noticing that Nellie was wearing long gloves she'd fashioned herself out of what appeared to be an old pillowcase or bedsheet, and that the body rested on another old bedsheet that soaked up the blood and gore. (Eminently practical and appropriate as always). When she saw that he wanted to sit closer to her, she sat up straight and pulled her work onto her lap, the sheet protecting her legs and chemise from the mess. Sweeney pressed her back against his chest, breathing in her scent, which was a blissful relief after the awful stench.

That relief from disgust was short-lived, as a few moments later his ears were greeted with the sickening crunching sound of bones being broken. Sweeney peeked over Nellie's shoulder and quickly looked away; she'd snapped open the ribcage by bashing the breastbone with her rolling pin. He swallowed hard to keep from losing his supper. "Er…Nellie…is it really necessary to do that?"

"Hm? Oh, you mean breakin' the chest open?"

"Yes."

"Well, sometimes I like to use the kidneys. Or the liver. 'Cause we eat them parts of animals, eh? Once in a while I'll 'ave a kidney pie special."

"I suppose…how do you…uh…how do you know what's what?" The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

"Seems to me that a pig's insides look an awful lot like a man's. See this?" There was a wet popping sound and Sweeney felt Nellie's shoulder blade shift in a way that told him that she was holding something up. "That's a kidney if I ever seen one." She paused. "Sweeney, you listenin' to me?"

"Listenin', yes. Lookin', no."

"Oh, come now, it's only a kidney! Now, I figure this thing above the stomach is the liver…you know what's odd? A pig's liver is sort'a divided up, into sections, like, but a man's ain't. And 'ere's this bloke's liver…ugh! Sweeney, would you take a look at this!"

Once again, Sweeney took a brief glance and hid his face immediately.

"Ick. All purply and wrinkled. A good liver's nice and brown, and smoothish. See, this is why I don't want Toby drinkin' so much gin no more."

"What does that liver have to do with gin?" Sweeney croaked.

"The ones that got these sick-lookin' livers usually smell of alcohol, and I almost never see a rum-soaked bloke without a sick-lookin' liver. I figure it's the drinkin' that does this. I don't bloomin' know what the liver does, but I don't want me boy's liver lookin' like this."

Sweeney said nothing.

"You know what's amazin'? 'ow much is all stuffed up inside us. Would you look at all this?" He felt Nellie lift her arm again, and against his better judgment looked over her shoulder. She was pulling an impossibly long length of thick, wormlike gut from the body. "It's all coiled up to fit. Would you've believed you got one of these inside if your belly? Bloody ridiculous, 'ow long it is…why do we need so many guts, any'ow?"

"Nellie?"

"Hmm?"

"Please, _please _stop."

"What? You don't mind the fountains of blood, but you can't 'andle some guts and a sick-lookin' liver?"

"Blood is…is different. _You _couldn't handle too much blood!"

Nellie sighed. "You're right," she said after a time. "I don't mind the dead ones, but all that blood rushin' out of a live…er, dyin'…person…"

"Do you still have those visions when you cut up these bodies?"

"Sometimes. Not as often as I used to. You bein' 'ere 'elps."

He fervently hoped she wasn't asking him to be at her side whenever she cut up a body.

"It's gettin' late…I ought'a be quiet and keep workin'…"

"Please do."

They didn't talk any more after that. Sweeney remained with his arms around Nellie's waist and his face in her soft curls, breathing in the scent of her hair and enjoying the shifting and gliding of the muscles in her back and shoulders.

"Sweeney?"

"Hm?"

"I'm finished with this body. Why don't you go on upstairs and put on your nightclothes while I put the meat in the ice'ouse?"

"All right."

Sweeney climbed the stairs, but instead of going into the bedroom, he stepped outside. This turned out to be a good idea as within a few seconds of his exit, his stomach began violently rejecting its contents.

"Sweeney?" Nellie must have heard him retching, because she came outside. "Are you all right?"

"What does it look like?" he choked.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweet, I didn't realize it was turnin' your stomach so much."

He looked up at her with an expression of mixed frustration and embarrassment. "It shouldn't have."

"Don't worry about it. I lost me supper the first few times I chopped up a body." She pressed her lips to his cheek. "I just got'ta ask you to rinse out your mouth if you're plannin' on kissin' me again tonight."

"I will," said Sweeney dully.

Nellie lifted one of his hands and kissed each knuckle, then the palm. Sweeney found himself thinking that once he would have killed her for such a gesture, and wondering how Nellie could possibly worry he would revert to that attitude. "I'm goin' to sleep. Well, not sleep—you know I can't sleep without you—but I'll be in our room."

He nodded. "I'll be right there."

A few moments later, they were nestled against each other under the covers of their bed. "Nellie?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you still have…trouble with cutting up bodies?"

She hesitated before answering, "Sometimes." It sounded like she was going to speak again after that, so Sweeney waited. "It'd be awful nice if you could stop killin'. I wish I didn't 'ave to keep slicin' up corpses, and Toby's been naggin' me that 'e wants to be me apprentice. I think 'e's ready, and 'e's of age, and I wan'na teach 'im…but I can't if there're bodies in the bake'ouse."

"Didn't you ask me to stop killin' a while ago?"

"Yeah, and you decided you could kill a few less. It 'elped, but…if I'm gon'na bring Toby down there, there can't be even one body." She reached for him, her fingertips rubbing circles into the base of his neck. She did that often when she was trying to comfort him, but now he had the feeling that she was using a gesture she knew he liked to manipulate him into doing what she wanted.

Sweeney sighed. "Killin' doesn't even help me feel better anymore. If you can afford decent meat without what I provide you with, I'll stop."

She kissed him thoroughly. "Thanks, love. Thank you."

"You're welcome…why did you stop?"

"Stop what? Oh…" she resumed her rubbing of his upper back.

"So you were only doin' that to make me agree to stop killin'."

Nellie laughed. "You underestimate 'ow much I like touchin' you."

He snickered. "You little strumpet."

"A few months ago, you'd've torn me throat out with your bare 'ands for sayin' that, or just hit me if you remembered you needed me to feed you and get rid of the bodies. Now you're teasin' me."

"I don't think that's true."

"Yeah…you were like to not 'ear me say it, I suppose, so you couldn't've gotten upset if you weren't listenin'." She pecked him a kiss. "Things're so different between us now…sometimes I wonder if it's even possible. Maybe I've gone completely mad and am imaginin' all this cause I want it so bad. Or maybe you'll realize whatever you feel for me is just a…a mistake, or a phase, and one mornin' I'll wake up on the floor with your razors stickin' in me ribs 'stead of curled up next to you."

"Don't talk like that. I've asked you not to talk like that." He closed his eyes. "I promised I wouldn't hurt you again."

"I know. But you promised 'cause you like me. If you change your mind about me, what do you care about any promises you made?"

"Don't be gloomy. It's not like you."

"We've talked about this before, ain't we? That time you nearly cut me throat 'cause I snuck up on you, weren't it? You ought'a know by now I ain't bein' gloomy. I'm bein' practical. I've always been practical; I just didn't used to be as practical about us bein' together as I am now." She smiled gently at him. "After all the terrible things you've been through, you still ain't learned to expect terrible things to 'appen, even if you don't wan'na expect them. It was a bloomin' 'ard lesson for me to learn…"

"Nellie, stop it. Please." He tightened his grip on her, and she stopped kneading his shoulders to return the embrace. He kissed her hard, a gesture of something like desperation. "Please, let's just lie here and…and be happy, all right? I never thought I'd have to ask _you _to be happy."

"And I never thought I'd 'ear you say you wanted to be 'appy! For a while there I thought you enjoyed wallowin' in your misery, even though if anybody deserves a little 'appiness it's you." She nestled her head under his chin in a way he recognized as her getting comfortable enough to sleep.

"How did you stay so…cheerful? Before? Your life wasn't exactly easy. When I got here, you were nearly bankrupt, and you were jokin' about it. In a complainin' sort of way, but…how did you do it?"

"I always told meself that I'd better laugh, 'cause if I don't, I'll cry, and cryin' don't usually solve nothin'."

He hadn't properly thought about it before, but her overly jaunty attitude that had so annoyed him had really been a defense against the difficulties of a single woman trying to run a business during an economic slump. "You tried to make the best of everything."

"I took it a bit too far," she said wryly. "I started thinkin' that if I believed 'ard enough that everythin' was gon'na be all right, it would be. Good thing you set me straight before I got meself killed believin' nice things that I wanted to be so but weren't."

Sweeney's dialoguing skills were failing him again. "At least…at least you, er, know what's goin' on now."

"Do I? I 'ope I do, but it don't really matter, 'cause even if I did know I couldn't change it." She sighed. "Do you wan'na sleep now? I'm tired."

"Mm. Sleep sounds good."

"All right. 'Night, love." She kissed him goodnight.

As she drifted off, he ran his hand over her back. He was stroking her because he wanted her to feel better, but she was still (albeit sleepily) massaging his shoulders and likely thought he was only reciprocating for that. He wanted to say something to her, something kind, something to lift her spirits a bit and reassure her that he wouldn't change his mind about her and start treating her cruelly again, but she was asleep before he could think of anything.

* * *

Nellie had to go to the market the next day, and Sweeney decided to accompany her. Usually it was Toby who went shopping with her, but he begged off to go play with his new friends. Sweeney hated being around large groups of people, but he found himself remembering the day Nellie had come home from the market crying and thinking that accompanying her was his best chance to see what his wife was up against. After all, she was the one who had to go out into the sea of Londoners (in Sweeney's view, people who were filled with shit) every time they needed groceries, so Sweeney might as well see what it was like. He just hoped that going to the market with Nellie wouldn't be as upsetting as watching her cut up a corpse; he'd gotten into that situation with similar logic to what he was thinking now.

When they set off, Nellie slipped her hand into his, and Sweeney gave her a look of mild disapproval. "Nellie, if you're goin' to drag me to the market with you…" He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her close. "…at least walk with me properly."

She grinned at him. "All right, dear, if you insist."

By the time they made it to the market, the crowds were so thick that they were pressed tightly against each other. Nellie made copious use of her elbows in order to get them through to the stands and carts that held the groceries she needed; Sweeney ended up following her with his hands on her waist so they wouldn't be separated. Nellie was bent over a cart of apples, carefully inspecting each one before selecting it, when Sweeney overheard a particularly interesting conversation.

"My God, is that Nellie Lovett? What 'appened to 'er face?"

"Oh, you know Nellie. She's always been…eccentric, and you know she'll stop at nothin' to get attention."

"Ah," said the first voice knowingly. "And did I 'ear she's married again?"

"Yes, to that 'andsome barber who lives above 'er shop."

"Really? That poor fellow!"

Despite the crush of people, Sweeney managed to turn around to see who it was speaking so poorly of his wife. He caught sight of two women in incredibly fashionable gowns, whispering to each other under cover of their hands and the brims of their oversized hats. They were looking in Sweeney and Nellie's direction. He started after them, hand on his razor.

"Don't, love." Nellie had caught hold of his wrist. He'd thought she hadn't noticed the insulting conversation, for she hadn't reacted. "It's only Cornelia and Agnes. Malicious gossips, that's all they are. They ain't worth it."

"Didn't you hear what they were sayin' about you?" he demanded.

"Of course I 'eard. They meant me to." She examined an apple before setting it down carefully in her basket.

But…if they were insultin' you…why would they mean for you to hear them?"

She sighed. "Sometimes, sweet, I think you're just as naïve as Benjamin Barker. If I 'ear them talkin' nasty about me, I feel insulted, but since I ain't part of the conversation and they're far away, I can't defend meself."

"Is that really how people's minds work?" Sweeney was appalled. He was used to flat-out cruelty and betrayal, but this sort of subtle, devious meanness was new to him. It was just…underhanded. Disgusting.

"Some, yeah. More women than men. They each got their own ways of bein' mean."

Sweeney made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and hugged Nellie around the waist. "I bloody hate people."

"I know, love. Sometimes I do too."

Nellie had almost finished her shopping when they had another unpleasant encounter.

"Why, Eleanor! Is that you, dear? Oh, it's been _ages!_"

At one point, Sweeney would have said that Nellie had the most irritating voice he had ever heard. Even back then, though, if he could have heard the loud, grating, almost squeaky voice that addressed Nellie now, he would have changed his mind immediately.

"Hyacinth," said Nellie with a small smile and a tone that could have frozen water in August. "I believe I've told you that 'Eleanor' is not me name before, ain't I?"

The woman who had spoken strode over to them. She had the kind of storybook princess look to her that included large light blue eyes, ivory skin and hair the color of corn silk, and carried herself as if she knew all too well that she was beautiful. Like the two gossipy women who had insulted Nellie earlier, she was draped in the latest fashions. She wore a lipsticked smile that looked as if it might break her face in two.

"Ah. Of course. Nellie, then. Such an unfortunate name, though, if you ask me…pity your parents didn't call you Eleanor."

"Yes, quite a pity." Sweeney knew Nellie actually did wish her parents had given her a more elegant name, but she sounded as if she couldn't possibly care less.

"And who is this? You must be Nellie's new 'usband! Sweeney Todd, is it? 'ow rude of me not to introduce meself. I'm Mrs. James Goodacre, but of course you may call me Hyacinth." She offered her hand, and out of sheer habit of acting genteel for his customers, he shook it.

"Pleasure to meet you," said Sweeney without warmth.

"I assure you, good sir, the pleasure is all mine." Hyacinth smiled. There was something indecent in her tone.

Nellie cleared her throat. "If you'll excuse me, Hyacinth, I've a bit more shoppin' to do." She turned to Sweeney. "I've got'ta pick up a few herbs and then we can go on 'ome. I'll be just a moment." She kissed his cheek and walked off.

Hyacinth suddenly grabbed one of Sweeney's hands in both of hers. "You're _such_ a dear, you know that?" Her voice practically oozed honey—enough honey to make one sick from all the sweetness.

Sweeney blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Some of us were beginnin' to think Nellie'd never remarry. No man would 'ave 'er, see. It's so _charitable _of you to take 'er on, sir. She didn't do nothin' sly like tellin' you she wouldn't let you stay in 'er building unless you married 'er, did she? That would be _so _like 'er."

"Of course not." Now that she was closer, or maybe because he was already developing a deep dislike of her, Sweeney could see that Hyacinth was not as beautiful as he'd thought. Her eyes were a bit too large, her nostrils flared wildly when she spoke, and her teeth were horsy.

Hyacinth shook her head. "Well, sir, such an act of kindness as you've committed deserves a little reward, eh? I tell you…" she lowered her voice. "If you've ever just put up with Nellie enough…me 'usband is away quite often, and I'd be quite glad to…entertain you for a bit."

Sweeney could not believe the audaciousness of this woman. His fingers were already curling around his razor, but he stopped himself from killing her and instead spoke a few well-chosen words. "I'm afraid, _Mrs. _Goodacre, that we have a case of mistaken identity on our hands."

The woman's brow furrowed. "Mistaken identity, sir?"

"Yes. You appear to have mistaken me for a man who is unhappy with his marriage. I'm afraid you couldn't be more wrong, so you must think I'm someone I'm not. Now, if you would excuse me, ma'am, I'll be joinin' my wife." Sweeney dipped his head in farewell and (with some difficulty, considering the density of the crowd) went over to Nellie.

"I'm near done. We can be gettin' 'ome soon."

"All right. Oh, wait a moment, she's lookin' this way…" Sweeney hooked his hand around the back of Nellie's neck and kissed her firmly. They both quickly glanced at Hyacinth's face as Sweeney stood upright, and snickered at her expression. Then Nellie paid for the herbs she wanted and she and Sweeney departed for their home, arms around each other.

"Hyacinth tried to get you in bed with 'er, didn't she?"

"Yes. Wretched whore. Does she go around tryin' to steal people's husbands often?"

"She does, actually. See, 'er 'usband captains a merchant ship and is away a fair bit. At first, she started lookin' for men 'cause she was lonely, but then she realized she liked she liked people makin' a fuss over 'er, so she started chasin' married men and watchin' all smug-like when their marriages went to Hell. It's like that she thinks of you as a prime target 'cause you don't even wan'na be married to me."

"Nellie…by any chance, was it Hyacinth who made you cry?"

"Yeah. That was 'er. I didn't cry in front of 'er, though."

"What did she say?"

Nellie glanced around to make sure there was nobody around who she wouldn't want to hear the following. "She 'ad some tricky way of sayin' it so it sounded like it could've meant any number of things, but she really asked me if I 'ad to tie you to the bedposts at night. Asked me if you screamed for 'elp."

That had been before their first time, when Nellie had been convinced that their marriage wouldn't be consummated. No wonder that comment had upset her. "What did you say back?"

"I said yes, and I 'ad to gag you to, and then I slapped 'er. Well, I don't remember if I said that, but I wanted to, but I know I slapped 'er."

Sweeney barked out a laugh. "You _slapped _her?"

"She deserved it. Whether or not I thought she was right, that ain't a decent thing to say."

He squeezed her with the arm he had around her waist, and she squealed and nearly tripped. "Sweeney! Sometimes I think you don't know your own strength."

"You're a bloody wonder."

"Yeah, well, just say that, don't nearly pull me over." But she pecked his cheek to show that she was joking. "I can't bloody stand Hyacinth. I'd take any excuse to slap 'er. What did you think of 'er?"

"I believe I already called her a 'wretched whore' and I think I'll continue using that description."

"You didn't think she was pretty?"

"Not like you."

"Oh, now you're just lyin'," she chuckled. "You know, if you do ever decide to be unfaithful to me, you'd better never lose your temper with the woman and kill 'er, 'cause then I'll know who it was."

"Do you really think I'd be unfaithful to you?" he said, startled. He knew by now that Nellie was the type to laugh at horrible things in order to deal with them, but did she really think he had any desire for any woman but her? He wasn't interested in anyone else—he'd only been initially interested in her because they were together, so why not?

Nellie shrugged as best as one walking with an arm around someone could. "Well, I never expected you to be faithful. Not to me."

"Would you care to explain why I would choose to be unfaithful to someone as devoted as you?"

"'Cause I'm so 'devoted' I wouldn't get as upset with you as most women. I'd just want you to 'ave what you need, and if that means somebody other than me, then…"

"You can't possibly say you would be all right with me bein' with another woman."

"Oh, it'd just break me 'eart, I'm sure, but I wouldn't be angry."

They had reached their building. Nellie set about unlocking the door, but had trouble since one arm was occupied by her shopping basket. Sweeney took the key from her and undid the lock himself. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"I'm sure not, dear," she said as she set her basket down and began removing her purchased items.

He wasn't convinced she meant that. He felt frustration bubbling in his stomach; this was yet another time when he wished he could tell Nellie something, but didn't know how to say it. If he simply reiterated the last thing he had said, it wouldn't mean anything more the second time. Could he maybe do something to show Nellie he didn't need anyone but her?

Toby came in, through the door Sweeney had just unlocked.

"Your timin' is eerie, son," remarked Nellie. "Who was you playin' with?"

"Aaron and Micaiah. But Aaron's mum made 'im go inside to 'elp 'er with somefin' and I got to play with Micaiah alone for awhile." He smiled and scratched the back of his head. "She's awful nice, she is."

Something in Toby's tone prompted Nellie to say, "And…who's Micaiah again? Somebody…special?"

Toby went redder than a strawberry. "She's Aaron's sister. Thought I said that before, didn't I?"

"Oh, so you did, sweet. Must've slipped me mind."

"I'll just get ready for bed, then," Toby said and lit out of the room like he was trying to catch yesterday.

"Well, I'll be," said Nellie with a laugh. "About time 'e 'ad interest in a girl!" She looked at Sweeney. "You ought'a talk to 'im, dear."

"Why me?"

"You think a boy wants to learn the proper way to woo a girl from 'is mum? And 'e'd better learn, 'cause if 'e uses us as 'is example, 'e'll go at that poor girl's face with a knife."

"He wouldn't do _that_."

"Of course not, but me point is that 'e don't 'ave a good example. Just…tell 'im what you did when you was courtin' Lucy, would you? Just the less serious things, of course…Toby ain't plannin' on gettin' married soon."

"All right, but if he wants to buy her flowers, you're payin' for it."

Nellie laughed. She'd been doing that more frequently of late. "Fair enough. And I got'ta tell 'im that soon I'll be able to make 'im me apprentice, I can't forget that…"

"Nellie."

"Hmm?"

He'd just had an idea. "We never went on a proper honeymoon."

"Well, I thought you wouldn't want to."

"I think we should."

She looked up at him, head tilted to one side. "Are you sure, love?"

"Yes. You think I don't want to get away from this filth?" He gestured out the window. "Less of stinkin' London, more time with you. I don't see the downside."

"I would say the 'more time with me' would've been the downside at one point, but it seems you've changed your mind about that. I'd certainly like more time with you." She grinned. "You got a place in mind?" _The seaside. Please say the seaside, 'cause if you don't, I'm convincin' you to go there._

"Not really. Do you?"

_Calm down, Nellie_, she told herself._ Don't act like you're dyin' to go; if 'e wants to spend time with you, don't spoil it by bein' overeager. You might be able to use this trip convince 'im that the two of you should retire by the sea one day; you might not. _"I think I'd like to go to the seaside. I know a precious little town where me rich Aunt Nettie used to live; me family used to visit 'er there when I was a child, but the visits stopped 'cause me brothers and sisters didn't care for the water."

"Do you?"

"Yes." She didn't say any more because she knew she'd get carried away. She didn't care for the sea; she loved it. She'd taught herself to swim at the age of four or five and distinctly remembered her mother shrilling at her that swimming was not a ladylike activity; little Nellie, of course, had been inseparable from the ocean after that moment onward. The water could be so cold her lips turned blue and her teeth chattered and she still refused to come ashore. "I think that's where we should go."

Sweeney nodded.

"When do you think we should go? Shouldn't take too long for us to pack up…"

"I think this weekend would be fine."

Nellie's eyebrows shot up. "This weekend? But, Sweeney, you see Lucy on the weekends."

"It's just one missed visit." He shrugged. "I'll be fine. What do you say, pet?"

He was giving up a visit to Lucy for more time with her. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and kiss him, but she settled for replying, "I say this weekend can't arrive soon enough."

* * *

A/N: Yes, ladies, gents and genderqueers, our dear Nellie discovered cirrhosis of the liver. In complete honesty, half the reason I wrote this story was so I could write the bakehouse body-dissecting scene. I also had fun with the market scene, and I couldn't resist including a little of Toby's life in this chapter. His first crush…aww. He'll be in the next chapter quite a bit; I've been neglecting him lately.

And also, if you guessed that little Shedemei used to swim in Lake Michigan until her lips turned blue and her teeth chattered and she still wouldn't get out of the damn water, you're right. But that's not because my mom didn't want me to swim; it's just because I really, really like the water. If I were a character in a movie I'd probably turn out to be a mermaid or something.


	15. Surprises

Blade of Madness

Chapter Fifteen: Surprises

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, Sweenett

Author's Notes: Second-to-last chapter! This one required a lot of historical research, as well as me trying to remember details from a Discovery Channel special on Australian penal colonies I saw when I was about twelve. What was twelve-year-old me doing watching a documentary on Australian penal colonies? Who knows; I was an indiscriminately nerdy kid and would watch basically anything on Discovery.

* * *

Nellie made her most valiant attempt to hide the fact that she got giddier and giddier as the weekend approached, but Sweeney noticed it anyway. He wasn't sure whether or not he was happy that she was trying to hide her feelings; at one point he would have felt like slapping her for acting as happy as she felt, but at the same time he wished she'd act a little more like herself. She'd been more relaxed about not hiding her feelings lately, but she was so careful to hide her happiness about their upcoming trip Sweeney had the feeling it was more important to her than she was letting on. Then again, he still wasn't exactly an expert at guessing Nellie's feelings; the old Nellie had been incredibly transparent, and he'd been spoiled lately with her starting to return to that. Now that she was holding back, all he could do was ask her if she was expecting something special out of their upcoming trip, and all he got was "I'm just 'appy you wan'na spend time with me—that's all, dear."

He had also acquiesced to giving Toby advice about how to court (as if that word even applied to a boy Toby's age—although Sweeney had to confess he didn't actually know how old the boy was) his friend Micaiah. That had originally consisted of a single sentence telling Toby to buy flowers for the girl, but Toby, sensing that he was in the presence of someone with knowledge and experience, pestered Sweeney for more advice. After that, Nellie had helped Toby pick out some flowers and had watched (from a distance, so as to not embarrass Toby) him deliver them to Micaiah. "Toby 'anded 'er the posies, all shy-like, and she took 'em and blushed—then she kissed 'im on the cheek. It was about the sweetest thing I ever did see," said Nellie about the incident.

"Is she pretty?"

"Who, Micaiah?"

"Who else?"

"Hmm, well, 'er hair's a rather ordinary brown color, but she's got a pretty face. Big green eyes. She's _tiny_, though—'ad to stand on 'er tiptoes to kiss Toby."

Something about the description stirred Sweeney Todd's memory of one of the many times he'd been gazing contemptuously out the window at the scuttling bipeds below. "Was she wearin' 'er hair in pigtails? Braided ones?"

Nellie blinked. "Yes…'ow did you know?"

"I saw her once, playin' in the street. The children were playin' some foolish game—throwin' balls, tryin' to hit each other. She was a bloody menace. The boys playin' with her didn't stand a chance."

"So she beat 'em at the game?"

"Soundly."

Nellie laughed. "Well, she's got spirit, then. If she stays that little, she'll need it." She reached out and squeezed Sweeney's hand. "Thanks for givin' Toby advice, love. I know you didn't want to."

"What gave you that idea?" he grumbled, and she laughed again.

"'Cause you were doin' somethin' nice for somebody else and gettin' nothin' in return, and besides, you ain't overfond of Toby."

"He's your son."

"Which is the only reason you deal with 'im. That, and 'e 'elped you garner the money for me wedding dress."

"I bought you a wedding dress and you tell me I can't do nothin' nice without there bein' somethin' in it for me?"

"There was somethin' in that for you—you got to feel less guilty for 'urtin' me."

Sweeney searched his mind and could find no memory of doing something kind for Nellie that hadn't been for a selfish reason, with the possible exception of making that trip to the market with her. His lip still curled at the thought of Hyacinth Goodacre.

"Eh, well…I suppose you were the one who thought up this trip, but still, don't you think you only like me 'cause I take care of you? I mean, what'd you do if I took ill?"

"I'd take care of you."

"For the first day, maybe. But what if I 'ad the consumption, or somethin' that don't go away 'til it kills you? You'd get sick of carin' for me, stick me in the 'ospital, find a place to stay in a boarding-'ouse and I'd never see you again."

"Do you really think that?"

"I 'ad to kill the Judge for you before you noticed me, and even then you only did 'cause I could feed and 'ouse you and Lucy couldn't. I wish that wasn't true, but what am I supposed to think? That you were so overwhelmed with gratitude you fell in love with me?"

"I care about you. You know that."

"We ain't talkin' about whether or not you care. We're talkin' about why." Nellie sighed. "All right, I won't make you talk about this no more. Certainly not so close to our trip."

"I hate how you keep talkin' about how I've wronged you or what's wrong with us bein' together. For a while there, you thought I'd hate you forever—ain't it enough for you that I'm your husband?"

She squeezed his hand again. "Of course it's enough, sweet. But I got'ta keep remindin' meself that everythin' ain't as perfect as I used to wish it'd be. And a lot'ta the time I end up remindin' you too."

He wrapped her in a tight hug and she returned it wholeheartedly. "Maybe I do complain too much," she whispered. "I mean…neither of us got what we wanted. You've got somebody who loves you, but you didn't get Lucy and Johanna, and I'm married to you, but you don't love me. When you think about it, you've got it worse, but I don't 'ear you complainin'."

"I don't feel any need to complain, pet."

Nellie almost made an inquiry as to why he had to see Lucy every weekend, but decided against it. Instead, she said "Are you sure you'll be all right missin' your visit to Lucy this weekend?"

"I'm sure you'll do a magnificent job distractin' me." He pressed his face into her hair. She smelled his hair, too, at every possible opportunity, so she couldn't mock him for it. Even if she did, he could just say that he liked hair—how could he not, being someone who ran a tonsorial parlor?

"I'll do me best, love."

"You always do."

* * *

They departed for the seaside by train on Friday afternoon, having closed their respective shops for the day in order to pack. Toby had been gone all morning, spending time with Micaiah; Nellie told him to promise to bring her a seashell when he came back. She also told him she would teach him to swim, so he would have both the swimming lessons and his search for a pretty seashell to look forward to on the trip.

The train ride was a kind of delicious agony for Nellie. She started the voyage with her head resting on Sweeney's shoulder, but by the time they had nearly arrived at their destination she was excited enough to fly out of her skin and couldn't stay still long enough to use Sweeney as a pillow. It was a considerable effort not to babble constantly about how thrilled she was; she didn't want to annoy Sweeney. It was twilight when they arrived, and by the time they found an inn and were settled into their room, they were all quite tired and ready to sleep. Nellie, though, couldn't contain the exhilaration of being at the seaside again and flew down the stairs and across the short distance to the beach. A weary and grumbling Sweeney followed her to find her crouching at the ocean's edge, cupping her hands in the water.

"I ain't been to the sea since I was tiny!" Nellie splashed the cool water onto her face.

"If you love the sea so much, why've you never mentioned it?"

"Never came up," she lied, watching rivulets of water drip through her fingers again.

"Well, you'll spend all day tomorrow with the sea, so come back to the inn."

"All right, dear." She stood up.

"I thought you wanted to come on this holiday to spend time with _me,_ not an oversized pond with caustic water."

"Oh, I will, sweet! I'm just real 'appy to be back, that's all."

_So she bloody adores the ocean. That was why she's been so giddy about coming here. But why did she try to hide that from me?_

"Come with me, pet."

"I'm comin'." She took his hand.

"For God's sake, woman, what have I told you about walkin' with me properly?" He hooked his arm around her waist. She grinned and draped her arm over his shoulder, and they walked back to their room, where they changed into their nightclothes and slept. Nellie dreamed of sun and sand and cool salty water, and Sweeney had a complicated, confusingly pleasant yet frightening dream that he would not remember when he woke.

When he did wake, he found the bottom half of his face pressed to Nellie's shoulder, which he nuzzled reflexively. She giggled sleepily. "Sweeney…" Her voice was almost a whine. "I was 'avin' such a nice dream…"

"And you have nice shoulders."

"Sweeney, they're shoulders. Everybody's got 'em. Ain't nothin' special about mine."

He was in a teasing mood, mostly because it amused him so to see Nellie being even remotely grouchy. "They're delicious." He sank his teeth lightly into the ball of her shoulder, eliciting a squeal from her. "You'd make a fine meat pie."

"_Sweeney!_" She squirmed away from him. "What the bloomin' 'ell's wrong with you?" But she was laughing. "Anyway, all you're tastin' is me nightdress."

He groaned. "I just can't win an argument with you, can I?"

"It don't matter—soon as we get some breakfast, we're off to the seaside!" She got up and immediately began dressing herself.

"You're so bloody lively you'll live to be eighty."

"Not if you get me first, dear, if only 'cause you're jealous of 'ow much energy I got."

He threw a pillow at her.

When she was properly clothed (despite the fact that she had a corset and many more layers than Sweeney, she finished dressing herself first), she knocked on Toby's door to wake him and called out that he should get ready to go downstairs and eat in the inn's dining area. Toby and Sweeney finished dressing at about the same time, and then all three of them proceeded to the dining area.

"Jesus, Nellie, you're not starvin'," Sweeney remarked as Nellie bolted down her eggs in a most unladylike manner.

"No, but I ought'a 'urry, 'cause if we're plannin' to go to the beach today, I've still got'ta change into me bathing dress."

"You went through all that rigmarole to get fully dressed and you have to _change_?"

"Well, I couldn't come down 'ere in me bathing dress. You can see me ankles."

"When did you buy bathing dresses?"

"A few days ago. Don't worry, I didn't get anythin' for you that'd embarrass you."

"Really? Because that sounds very like you."

"It would've at one point, just because you're awful funny when you're embarrassed, but now I'd be scared to." Her tone was jocular for the sake of the others in the room, but Sweeney knew she meant it.

"Did you get one for me too, Mum?" Toby piped up.

"'Course I did, sweet. I wouldn't forget you. I ain't forgotten you wan'na be me apprentice, 'ave I? Not when I'm 'avin' you start as soon as we get 'ome."

The boy's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Now, Toby, you know I wouldn't lie about somethin' like that."

Toby got up, rushed over to Nellie, and hugged her tightly. She laughed and patted his hand, which was all she could do, considering that she was eating.

When they were finished with their breakfast, they trooped upstairs. Sweeney was feeling very apprehensive about wearing a bathing dress; that wasn't something he'd considered. He suddenly realized that the men and women were supposed to be in separate areas of the beach, because many men swam wearing their undergarments or nothing. If he wanted to stay with Nellie—and it would be moderately scandalous enough for him to be in the women's area—he'd have to wear a bathing dress. The same went for Toby, for that matter.

Sweeney's fears turned out to be unfounded. The bathing dress Nellie had picked out for him was a solid color, a navy blue that was not quite to dark as to seem like it might be black. "I thought the color would look nice on you," Nellie explained. It was Toby who ended up with a bathing dress that was horizontally striped with black and white, but he found nothing wrong with that. "That's nearly the only pattern they got for men. Yours was the only one not striped left in the shop when I bought it," Nellie remarked to Sweeney, who thought _Thank Heaven_ but said nothing. Nellie's bathing dress consisted of a dress with long sleeves and a skirt that would have exposed her ankles if not for the loose trousers underneath. The dress was a rosy salmon and the trousers were a darker shade that was almost red, and there was white piping at the wrists, ankles, and skirt hem, and a white sash that she tied in a bow at her side. Sweeney watched her tie a cerise neckerchief under the folded white collar of the dress, thinking she looked rather adorable, or might have looked adorable if she were younger. She pulled the braids from her hair and asked Sweeney if he might plait it down the back, in just one braid, tighter than usual. He obeyed, asking her why she wanted such a plain hairstyle, and she replied: "Because I'll be swimmin', of course." She perched a straw sun-hat on her head when he was done braiding.

That reminded him of something else. He wasn't certain about this, having never been to the seaside for a holiday, but… "Why are we changin' 'ere again? Aren't we supposed to use the bathin' machines?"

She turned to him with a rather wicked grin. "Well, dear, I'm 'opin' that things won't've changed since I was 'ere as a child. There's one stretch of beach that ain't popular, so there ain't no bathin' machines and they don't bother separatin' the men from the women. I couldn't stand the bathin' machines as a girl—there ain't no light in 'em, so it takes bloomin' forever to change into your dress, and it's so slow gettin' in and out of the water—so I'd slip off to that one place whenever I could."

"Er…why is it unpopular?"

"'Cause of the dangerous currents. But they ain't that dangerous if you know 'ow to 'andle 'em."

"Would you be so kind as to share that knowledge?"

"Oh, I will, and with Toby too. All you do is just don't fight the current. Swim with it 'til it ain't so strong anymore, then get back to shore a different way. If you fight the current, you'll just get tired and drown."

"Hmm."

After Nellie shared her tidbit about not drowning in the currents with Toby, the three of them proceeded to the beach. Nellie's memory of the most secluded way to get to that one stretch of shore that she remembered from her childhood was impeccable, and soon they were there.

"Just like I remember it!" Nellie crowed. "Except this is new." She tapped a wooden sign that read "WARNING: DEADLY CURRENTS."

"Mum…are you sure this is safe?" Toby queried hesitantly.

"Oh, I never drowned when I was little, and I was all alone. Toby, you'll be with me whenever you're in the water, and do you think I'd let you drown?"

They set down their blankets and the picnic basket Nellie had packed, and within the blink of an eye Nellie had discarded her sun hat and flung herself into the water. Hesitantly, Sweeney followed her. She had been under the surface for long enough to make him worry when she popped up behind him and splashed him, laughing like a child. Before he could retaliate, she dove again.

She could swim like a fish. Sweeney watched her fin through the water with incredible ease and speed, despite the heavy cloth of her bathing dress, despite the complication that she was a grown woman and had been a child the last time she'd been swimming and despite the fact that she was ostensibly not a selkie. She seemed completely at home in the ocean. Sweeney found himself wondering if it were part of some cosmic balancing act to make Nellie so ungraceful on land and yet so adroit and nimble in the water. He felt obligated to be surprised at her swimming ability, but somehow lacked the actual surprise.

"Nellie?"

"What was that, dear?" She stood up and shook her head to clear the excess water from her hair.

"I just called your name, but I was goin' to say if you wanted me to realize there was somethin' special about you, you should've dragged me here and made me watch you swim."

She splashed him. "So now you're sayin' the best thing about me is that I can swim? That that would've made you fall for me even though you wouldn't've been interested enough to watch? You'd've wanted to get away from me and swim with the men, anyway."

"I don't give a damn about what the law or people or whoever say about men and women not bein' able to bathe near each other, or that wearin' a bathin' dress makes you 'unclad' despite the fact that you're completely covered right now."

"But back then, you'd've used the excuse that the law says women shouldn't bathe near the men, 'cause you didn't care to be around me."

Without warning, Sweeney grabbed her around the middle and pushed them both into the water. Nellie squealed and quickly wriggled loose, then splashed him again as revenge. But then he kissed her and she completely forgave him for tackling her. She hadn't been too angry, anyway; he was just being playful, and that meant he was happy…

"Mum?" Toby called. Nellie looked up to see that her son was still standing on the shore. "Can…can you 'elp me?"

"Be right there, sweet!" Nellie called as she slogged back to shore, mentally kicking herself for not thinking that Toby had likely never been near so much water and was afraid. Sweeney didn't know how to swim, but he'd certainly seen the ocean in his voyages to and from Australia.

"Sorry, Mum," the boy said a bit guiltily. "You looked like you was 'avin' a fun time, but I'm…"

"Hold on a moment, son," interjected Nellie, her hand falling on his shoulder. She craned her neck to look at the mouth of the path that she and her little family had taken to this part of the beach, and wrinkled her nose when she saw two young women dressed in identical white bathing dresses that were as elaborate and attractive and impractical for bathing as fashion would allow. "Bloody damn…"

"What is it, Nellie?" Sweeney had walked up behind her.

"Looks like I ain't the only one who knows this place is private," Nellie grumbled, giving a startlingly dirty glare in the direction of the two girls.

Speaking of which, the ladies caught sight of the small group and tittered—presumably at the fact that it consisted of both males and females—and their scandalized tone turned to one of admiration when they noticed how handsome Sweeney was. Nellie watched the looks on their faces turn from appreciation to opprobrium when they saw her, and she could practically read their thoughts: "What is a fine-looking man like him doing with somebody like _her_?"

'_e's mine, you little trollops! _Nellie screamed mentally. Her temper was flaring; this holiday was supposed to be perfect, their honeymoon for God's sake—she and Sweeney would spend time together, Toby would see the ocean and being on a family trip for the first time, and she would be reunited with the sea…so how dare these bothersome chits waltz onto the sand and ruin every thing?

"Mum, is everythin' all right?" Toby queried.

"Fine, dear," replied Nellie. "You want me to teach you to float? We won't go far; you'll still be able to stand up. Sweeney, you comin'?"

"I think I'll stay on shore."

Nellie's blood ran cold at that, but she feigned the cheeriness that she'd felt when she first threw herself into the sea and walked with Toby until the water was up to his waist (it was significantly higher on her). She told him to watch carefully and leaned herself back until she was floating, arms and legs halfway submerged. Then she got up and supported his back with both hands while he reclined until he was horizontal, level with the surface of the water. "Can you feel the water 'oldin' you up?"

"I…I think so."

"Relax, dear, you're all tense. Bend your back a bit more."

He did.

"Good! Now I've got both me 'ands 'elpin' you stay up, so I'm gon'na start usin' just me fingertips, then one 'and, and then I'll let you float by yourself. If you want me to stop, say somethin', and if you feel like you're sinkin', just stand up. Remember the water don't come that 'igh on you."

"Yes, Mum."

It was then that she made the mistake of looking back at the shore. The two girls who had walked onto the beach had approached Sweeney—now seated on a blanket—and were flanking him, and Nellie could tell by their postures and gestures that they were being coquettish. Her heart rose into her throat. Sweeney had assured her he would be faithful to her, but that was after his encounter with Hyacinth, who was an arrant wench. And he was a man, and those girls were young and lithe and pretty, and perhaps were dressed immodestly enough to cause Sweeney to abruptly realize he was tired of Nellie's worn body…The thought of her beloved Sweeney in bed with one or, worse, both of those twittering whorelings made her feel sick to her stomach, but she had said she would let him have whatever he needed and she did not intend to go back on that. So as much as she wanted to march back to shore and grab Sweeney and drag him away and shriek "'e's mine, and I love 'im more than both of you could combined, so stay away from us!", she turned her back on the scene.

So she about jumped out of her skin—and likely frightened poor water-suspended Toby as well—when Sweeney came up behind her and addressed her.

"Jesus, Sweeney! You gave me such a fright!"

"Sorry, pet."

"I thought you didn't feel like bathin'."

"Those sodding little girls are…well, I don't know what they're tryin' to do, but they're aggravatin' me."

Relief flooded Nellie and she laughed out loud at Sweeney's naïveté. "You really are as naïve as Benjamin when it comes to some things, ain't you, dear?"

Sweeney blinked.

"They were doin' the same thing Hyacinth did at the market, except it seems they was less straightforward about it."

"Why? I'm obviously with you."

"Mum, what's goin' on?"

Nellie said quickly to Toby, "I'll explain in a second. See…" she turned back to Sweeney. "They know we're together, but they also see that you're beautiful and I ain't…" At that point she was cut off by protests from both Toby and Sweeney. "I know you both think I'm pretty, but from the looks on those tarts' faces when they saw me with you, all they saw was me scars, and that we're about the same age. So it's like that they thought you were just about dyin' for some young flesh and blood."

"Why didn't you…intervene?"

"Yeah, Mum, I wouldn't've minded."

Nellie considered babbling some nonsense like "I was too far out in the water", but Sweeney wouldn't believe her. So she shrugged and said "I thought you might like the attention." She tried to keep her voice from trembling.

Sweeney took a few steps closer to her and laid his hands on her shoulders, as her waist was underwater. "We've been over this. I don't need anybody but you."

"But you said that after bein' approached by Hyacinth Goodacre, who's a walkin' nightmare."

"Who's that?" Toby cut in.

"Just somebody I 'ope you never 'ave the misfortune of meetin', son."

"Nellie, look at me."

She did.

"When I said I wouldn't want anyone but you, I meant it." Then he wrapped his arms around her as best he could with her standing chest-deep in the sea, and she laid her head down against his shoulder. Toby watched, and briefly considered joining the embrace and making it a group hug, but he held back, knowing that it wouldn't be right. So he looked on with only a trace of the wariness he first felt at the knowledge that his mum and the coldhearted Mr. Todd were lovers. They seemed to be happy enough, and unless he was a damn good actor, he actually cared about her. Toby found himself wondering what it would feel like to be that close to a girl, maybe his friend Micaiah.

Nellie stepped back from Sweeney and pecked him a kiss. Doubtless the two girls on shore would see and, bitter at their failure to get Sweeney's attention, spread rumors about the amorous couple who not only didn't bathe separately but were making love at the beach. The rumors would be true and there were probably many people whose hearts would give out at the thought of a man and woman kissing while in public and not properly clad. But Nellie really couldn't care less. "Do you wan'na learn to float after I'm done teachin' Toby?"

"I've almost got it," said Toby proudly.

Sweeney looked out at the vast, flat expanse of the water and said nothing.

"Sweeney?"

"There are three ways to escape an Australian prison: into the desert, into the bush, or into the sea. Men who went into the desert or the bush were met with…untold dangers. But a man who took the way of the sea…" He trailed off. "I saw many a man driven mad by the Godforsaken conditions fling himself into the water, wanting nothing more than to swim home, and drown."

"You made it," Nellie said gently.

"I was lucky. I took a piece of…debris, some wooden thing…with me so it would look like I'd been shipwrecked. I still could have drowned."

"If you 'ate the ocean so much, why'd you wan'na come 'ere?" Toby wanted to know.

"And this is a different ocean," Nellie pointed out, though she wasn't sure, her knowledge of world geography being incredibly limited. "And you're on 'oliday, not escapin' from Australia. I'm 'ere. You won't drown."

He didn't say anything for a moment. Then: "All right."

So Nellie went back to helping Toby, who indeed was very close to floating by himself. He lay on his back in the water with her giving him less and less help, and when she finally took her hands away entirely, he floated for a moment before beginning to sink and standing up in a mild panic.

"You almost 'ad it!" Nellie cried. "You just got'ta keep your back arched when I let go of you. If you curl up like you just did, you sink. Shall we try again?"

The boy leaned back with Nellie's palms under his spine again. "Now I'm gon'na 'old you up with just me fingertips, all right?"

"Right, Mum."

"Keep your back bent a little, that's it…" After a moment, she continued, "Now I'm gon'na take one of me 'ands away."

"Mum? I think…I think if you take both your 'ands away, I'll be all right."

"You sure, love?"

"Mm-hmm."

"All right." Slowly, Nellie pulled her hands away, and Toby remained suspended on the surface of the water.

"Mum! I'm doin' it!" he shouted.

"Yes, you are!" Nellie clasped her hands together and grinned. "Ain't you a quick learner!"

Toby stood up and Nellie hugged him briefly.

"Sweeney, you wan'na try?"

"It ain't 'ard once you get it down," Toby added.

"Why not?" said Sweeney, grumbling slightly. So he, too, lay in the water with Nellie's hands supporting his back. Toby, meanwhile, was teaching himself how to move through the water while floating. "Nellie, I feel utterly ridiculous."

"Just relax, would you? It ain't as if floatin' is undignified. You can't float properly if you're all tense. Just…arch your back a little bit, not too much."

He did.

"Can you feel the water 'oldin' you up?"

"That sounds ridiculous."

"Just answer the bloomin' question. Don't be so…bothered. Either you stay all tense and thinkin' this is foolish, or you get it through your 'ead that you should try to calm down and work with me and the water. If you do the first one, you sink, and if you do the second one, you float."

"It's possible to drown in water this shallow. I've seen it."

"I ain't gon'na turn on you and shove your 'ead under, for cripes' sake! You ain't gon'na drown. I promise. Close your eyes—might make this easier."

So Sweeney closed his eyes, and without his vision he was forced to focus on the slight rocking motion of the water, the lapping sounds in his ears. Almost against his will, he relaxed, gradually unclenching all his muscles but his back and letting the water's buoyancy float his arms and legs.

"That's better. Now I'm gon'na take me palms away…" He felt the pressure on his back change, with ten small points of contact instead of two hand-shaped ones. He did not sink at all, as the water was holding him, but when he felt Nellie's left hand begin to move away, he protested.

"Don't. Use both hands."

"I'm barely touchin' you, love. It's the water keepin' you afloat. Even if I took both me 'ands away, you wouldn't sink."

He could feel that she was right; the pressure of her fingertips on his back was very slight, and occasionally a wave would lift him off her hands and he would momentarily float by himself, but he didn't want her to move.

"I know I wouldn't sink. But I don't want you to take your hands away."

"That don't make sense."

"Just…stay there. Please."

His tone rather than his words convinced her. "All right, then."

Sweeney kept his eyes closed and floated, comforted by the small but ever-present touch of Nellie's fingertips. After a while, he stood up.

"So, 'ow was it?"

"I can see why you like the water."

They bathed for a little while longer, got out of the water to eat their picnic dinner, and then lay on their blankets and let the sun dry them.

"I'll be red as a tomato by the end of the day," said Nellie with a grin.

Sweeney looked at her. In the bright light of the sun, her skin looked even whiter than usual. It did have a rather unappealing pasty look to it, but Sweeney knew perfectly well that it was much more pleasant to touch than look at.

Nellie wanted to go back into the water after a while, but her practicality got the better of her; she didn't want to be too badly sunburned, and she certainly didn't want Toby and Sweeney to be burned either. So they proceeded back to their inn, where they rested, then ate supper and took to bed early.

Sunday passed in a manner similar to Saturday, with three exceptions: one, Toby had to pound on Sweeney and Nellie's door to wake them, as they were very tired after the previous night (which had been unusually passionate), and two, once they got to the beach the two young women who had bothered Sweeney were not there. The third exception—and the most important—happened after they returned to the inn for the night; Sweeney finished changing out of his bathing dress and into his normal clothing when he noticed Nellie had slipped away. Confused, he went down to the shore nearest the inn where Nellie had scampered off to on the first night of their holiday, but she wasn't there. So he traipsed down the path to the "dangerous" area where he, Nellie and Toby had spent the last few days, and she was standing at the very edge of the water, fully dressed but for the fact that she was barefoot. As he got closer, he realized with a start that he could hear her crying.

"Nellie?"

She jumped, and whirled to face him. There were tears streaming freely down her cheeks. "Oh…s-sorry, love, I…I didn't see you…"

"Why are you cryin'?"

"It's foolish." She turned back to the water.

"I want to know why you're cryin'."

"Well…it's just that…I've always 'ad this…this stupid dream of retirin' to the seaside. I thought…I thought the two of us could get a little cottage near 'ere, and raise Toby like our son and grow old together…" She covered her face. "Please don't get angry. I won't mention it again."

Instead of getting angry, he held her close and asked, "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"I wanted to. I was 'opin' you'd 'ave a nice time on this 'oliday and I could convince you we should move 'ere. But…I was gon'na ask you after we left the beach, and you'd been…distracted…like somethin' was upsettin' you. I thought you were missin' Lucy, and I realized maybe I could get you away from 'er for a weekend, but I could never make you leave London."

"Maybe I could. It…it wasn't so bad, not seein' her this weekend."

"But could you do it for the rest of your life?"

He didn't answer. He didn't know. Instead he asked, "Are you cryin' because you know you can't get me away from Lucy?"

"That, and I ain't never gon'na see the ocean again. So…you understand why I told you I was cryin' for a foolish reason."

"How is it foolish?"

"I should know by now you're always gon'na love Lucy and not me. And not seein' the sea again ain't gon'na kill me."

Sweeney couldn't really argue either point, so he said, "Come back to the room. It's near suppertime. Maybe you'll feel better after you've eaten."

"Now you sound like me." She laughed once, a short, mirthless sound. She got her stockings and boots back on and Sweeney took her by the waist and led her away. When they got to the mouth of the path back to the inn, she said, "Wait." She looked over her shoulder for a moment, watching the waves lap against the shore, before continuing to walk with Sweeney, her arm tightening around him.

She was unnervingly listless for the rest of the evening. When they packed their suitcases to return to London, she moved like a ghost, quiet and slow. On the train ride that night, she sat leaning against Sweeney with her head on his shoulder as if she didn't have the strength to stay upright by herself. Toby asked her if she felt ill; she shook her head with a meek smile.

Due to the train scheduling, they had to stop at an inn overnight halfway to London. Once they got to their rooms, Nellie barely remembered to go into Toby's room and kiss him goodnight, then dressed in her nightgown and lay still but not asleep on hers and Sweeney's bed.

"Nellie, the boy asked you if you were ill, and I'm tempted to ask the same."

"I ain't ill. Just…weary."

"You're upset for the same reason you were cryin' earlier."

"I'll be fine. I just got'ta keep tellin' meself you ain't never gon'na love me and I'd better get used to it." She sighed and closed her eyes. "I thought I was used to it."

Then Sweeney knew the only way he could lift Nellie's spirits. He sat on the bed beside her and took her hand. "Why do you think I'll never love you?"

"'Cause you did a damn good job convincin' me of the fact."

"How do you know I haven't changed my mind?"

She yanked her hand out of his. "Don't taunt me, Sweeney, not when I'm already 'urtin'!"

He trailed his hand down her side. "I'm not tauntin' you, pet."

"You can't be _serious_."

"I am."

She turned over and stared at him. "What're you talkin' about?"

He placed one hand on the other side of her and leaned over. "I care about you. I've told you that."

"You care. That's different from lovin' somebody. Or maybe it's a kind of love, but not like…not like it was for you and Lucy."

"Not too different. Now I've come to think it's not different at all."

She covered her ears. "Don't tell me this. I'll believe you, and you're lyin', I know it!"

He was indeed lying, but he continued. "Nellie, listen to me." He lay beside her so his hands were free to pry her palms away from her ears. "I love you. Are you hearin' me? I love you."

She was shaking her head _no _and beginning to cry.

"Pet?"

Nellie was in turmoil. She'd been in love with this man (in one way or another) for nearly two decades, and in the past year she'd learned to accept that he would never return those feelings. But that didn't mean she'd stopped wanting it, wanting it so badly she couldn't help but believe it was true…

"I thought you'd never love me," she gasped out. "But I never stopped 'opin…" Sweeney stroked her face, wiping away the tears. "I always knew…I always knew you'd fall for me if I just showed you 'ow much I love you…"

"Come here, love." He gathered her into his arms, one hand carefully working at the fastenings of her nightdress.

He was gentle with her that night, or at least as close as Sweeney Todd could get to being gentle. And he could see a difference in Nellie as well; as much as she loved him, she never trusted him with complete control over her body, but that night she surrendered to him fully. And when she kissed him goodnight and whispered "I love you," those three words were more sincere and packed with emotion than he'd ever heard from her before, even more so than her wedding vows. She looked at him with not just her eyes but her whole face glowing, with such naked, undisguised love that he almost cried knowing her exuberance was the result of a lie. He realized that even as recently as the previous night, she'd been holding back the intensity of her adoration of him—she'd still been afraid, because she knew his feelings of care for her were fragile.

Sweeney slept with Nellie draped over his chest, wishing there were a way to make his lie true.

* * *

Sweeney's "confession" cured Nellie's melancholy beautifully. She was almost her old giddy self again the next morning, frequently pecking Sweeney's cheeks and lips with little kisses or wrapping her arms around him for a quick squeeze. Sweeney was relieved to see her so happy, or at least showing her happiness. If he hadn't wanted her affections, he would have lost his temper, but now that he enjoyed her behavior it was quite pleasant. Toby, too, was glad to have his old Mum back.

She sat in Sweeney's lap for most of the train ride home, and once they arrived in London she seemed to have utterly forgotten how upset she'd been to leave the seaside, seemingly distracted by beginning Toby's apprenticeship. Sweeney had to struggle to hide his (much different) reaction; he was relieved to be back in London, to look out the window and know Fogg's Asylum and Lucy were only a short walk away. He was almost angry with himself for that attitude having just convinced Nellie he cared enough about her to leave Lucy behind, but he could always claim that despite his "love" for Nellie, he was still having trouble letting Lucy—the last remnant of his past, save for the razors that now played such a different role than they had in Benjamin's life—go. So Nellie wouldn't get her house by the sea. Remembering the sight of her crying on the beach, he did feel sorry about that. But if thinking he loved her made her this happy, maybe she didn't need to fulfill that dream; she'd be perfectly fine in London.

At least, Sweeney hoped so.

* * *

A/N: While we all laughed at Sweeney's striped swimsuit in the movie's _By the Sea_, in the lyrics of the original _By the Sea _Nellie says she wants the stripes and she thinks Sweeney would look nice in blue ("rich dark navy"). I changed Nellie's suit because the one she wore in the movie was more Edwardian than Victorian, and if we're going by the 1840's time period set by the original stage version, then that's _early _Victorian and not even close to Edwardian, but I'll stop with the historical accuracy before I make everybody's eyes cross. (And I put her in salmon because I just saw _Room with a View _for the first time, and Helena's character was wearing a salmon-colored coat in one scene and looked lovely. Then again, Helena was generally beautiful enough to hurt the eyes in that movie.)


	16. Too Much

Blade of Madness

Chapter Sixteen: Too Much

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, Sweenett

Author's Notes: Final chapter. _**WARNING**_: I feel that this is a fitting end to the story. However, it indisputably switches the genre to tragedy. If you would rather a happier ending, I'll be posting an alternate ending soon and you should wait until then to read the conclusion of this fic.

* * *

For the next week, Nellie spent much of her time in the bakehouse with Toby, teaching him. They would bring trays of pies out together, and Nellie would make proud remarks about her new apprentice when the customers raved about the food. After working hours, Toby would run off to spend time with Micaiah and Sweeney would come downstairs to be with Nellie. The weather was getting warmer and often they would sit outside in the ale garden, sharing a drink, occasionally exchanging kisses over the rim of the glass. Nellie never mentioned moving to the seaside, so Sweeney never had to make any excuses about why they couldn't do that. She was happier than he'd ever seen her without being annoying. While Sweeney had felt reassured that he was near Lucy right when he and Nellie returned from their holiday, that feeling faded quickly. Nellie kept him busy; after they'd enjoyed their picnics on the beach so much that they took their supper to the park a few times before returning 186 Fleet Street for their drinks when night fell. Some nights, when they didn't feel like going out, they took their supper in the kitchen, and then went to sit on the loveseat with Sweeney resting his head on Nellie's lap while she read to him; traveler's tales, usually, which offered an entertaining temporary escape from reality. On Friday, Nellie insisted on inviting Micaiah for supper, and Sweeney actually managed to be decent; he even seemed to enjoy the visit. (Micaiah was quite a little spitfire and reminded him somewhat of Nellie. It was also amusing to see how besotted Toby was with the girl, much like Benjamin Barker had been with Lucy. He just hoped he hadn't acted that obviously starry-eyed.)

On Saturday, Nellie and Toby made an attempt to cook the corn oysters that Nellie had so enjoyed at the eatery with Sweeney on their wedding day. The project was ambitious, Nellie warned her apprentice; working from a recipe was one thing, but trying to imitate something you'd eaten was another thing entirely. It was an extensive operation, what with Nellie having to try to remember all the ingredients she had identified in the dish when she'd been eating it and then finding all of them at the market; the ingredients were only the beginning. It took Nellie and Toby several hours to try recipe after recipe and get the proportions right, but they finally succeeded. Nellie had been writing down every combination of ingredients they tried, and kept the one that worked and filed it with the rest of her recipes. Sweeney watched the entire process with amusement and growing admiration for Nellie's cooking abilities; she was a damn good baker once she had the right ingredients. Not to mention the corn oysters were delicious, although all three of them laughed about the fact that they'd taste-tested so many batches that none of them were hungry anymore. "We may be sick of them, but I'd lay odds we'll make a killin' sellin' these to the customers as appetizers," remarked Nellie.

Saturday night, Nellie was exhausted from work and the long corn oyster experiment. Sweeney had a sudden inspiration while she was sprawled supine and half-asleep on their bed and began working the stress from the muscles of her back. She sighed and her shoulder blades rose agreeably against the pressure if his hands. "Thanks, love. Where'd you learn to do this?"

"I've always found it easy. You just…follow the natural lines of the body."

"That's what I do, too…a little to the right…mmm…but some say they've got'ta learn it."

After he was done massaging the stress out of her back, she proved to him that she was just as capable of the same despite her lack of instruction. Sweeney hadn't needed any convincing, but he enjoyed it anyway. "Nellie, what do you say we make a tradition out of this?"

"A tradition, eh? You're a creature of 'abit, ain't you?"

"That, and I think I'd enjoy gettin' a massage from you every night. You complainin'?"

"'Course not, sweet. It's a lovely idea." She paused. "Sweeney…do you ever see us bein' 'appier than this?"

"I don't know. Why do you ask?"

"'Cause I don't. And that ain't a bad thing—I don't think I've ever been 'appier than I am now."

Sweeney couldn't agree with that statement, but he was certainly happier than he'd been in fifteen years. He kissed her. "Good."

Sweeney nearly didn't go to see Lucy that weekend. He came close to forgetting his visit, and only remembered because he wanted to see her more than usual because he hadn't done so the previous weekend. Nellie seemed to be pleased at the news that Sweeney wouldn't have gone to the asylum if he hadn't missed his last visit; she gave him a kiss and a "'urry back; I'll 'ave some tea waitin' for you."

So he walked to the asylum's massive front doors and knocked. The workers knew him by now and went to fetch Mr. Fogg.

"Ah, Mr. Todd."

"Yes—I'm here to see Lucy."

"I'm afraid you can't, sir."

"What do you mean, I can't? We had an agreement…"

"Late last week, I'm afraid there was a disease—a flu, I believe—that affected many of my children."

"So you won't let me in because there are still people ill?"

"No, sir…your wife took ill. She died last weekend."

Sweeney took an astonished step backward. "She…she's dead?"

"I'm afraid so," said Fogg with simpering sympathy that was likely affected.

"But…how…how could you have let this happen? You call the people here your 'children' and you let them die?"

"We brought in a doctor, but there was only so much he could do."

"You son of a whore…" Sweeney drew his razor and flew at Mr. Fogg, who knew enough about unstable behavior to step back. Two grey-faced asylum workers grabbed hold of his arms and pulled him back; he fought, lashed out as much as he could, but they shoved him and he fell.

"You'll not be welcome here again!" Fogg shouted out the door before it closed.

Sweeney was struggling for breath. Lucy was dead, really dead, gone forever. Any hope of her recovering had just been brutally ripped from him. Fogg, that useless piece of slime, hadn't been able to keep his own 'children' alive. If only Sweeney had been there, gone to see her, maybe he could have done something, but he hadn't been able to visit her.

And why _hadn't _he been able to visit her?

Nellie looked up when the front door opened so violently it slammed against the wall.

"Back so soon, love? I told you to 'urry, but you've never come back this soon."

"You—be quiet."

Nellie got up from where she sat at the kitchen table and started when she saw his expression. "What's wrong, love?"

"My Lucy's dead! That's what's wrong!"

"Dead? But 'ow?"

"An illness. Can you guess when?" he snarled, storming over to her.

"Well…I'm certain I don't know, dear…"

"Last weekend…when I was with you!" His hand shot out and gripped her, hard, under the chin. Her hands flew to her throat, but she wasn't strong enough to break his grip.

"But I didn't…I didn't kill 'er…" she choked out.

Sweeney let her go, if one could call it that. He flung her against the table and she was thrown halfway onto her back. She got up, one hand massaging the tender places on her throat where she would surely have bruises later. "What 'appened to 'I won't 'urt you again?'"

"I told you to _be quiet_! You always talk too much."

"Sweeney…" She reached for him. "I know you was 'avin' trouble lettin' go of Lucy, but you knew she was 'opeless, right?" She threaded her fingers through his hair. "It ain't like much 'as changed. We can get through this, I can 'elp you…"

"Really?" He clutched her wrist and yanked her hand away from his hair, and she cried out. "Tell me, my _pet_, what is so bloody special about _you_?"

"Mum?" Their argument had woken Toby, who had come into the kitchen. "Mum, are you all right?"

Nellie quickly pulled her arm from Sweeney's grip. "We've just got into a bit of an argument, dear. You go on back to sleep. It'll be all right."

"Are you sure, Mum?" He glanced warily at Mr. Todd's contorted face.

"Of course I am. You just get yourself to sleep and we'll 'ave this sorted by mornin', all right?"

After a pause, Toby nodded and shuffled off. When he was gone, Sweeney seized Nellie by the back of the neck and dragged her into their bedroom.

"I'm comin', sweet, you don't 'ave to pull me along like this…ow!"

"Shut…your…filthy…mouth."

He shoved her into the room and shut the door. "The boy can't save you now, my dear."

"Why would I need savin'?" she quavered.

He ignored her question. "What do you think I was doin' while my poor Lucy was dyin' in that hellhole?"

Nellie's heart was beating so quickly and strongly she wondered if it might explode. Not an hour ago, they'd been huddled close on the loveseat, her in his lap with his head cradled against the curve of her neck. She remembered him muttering regretfully into her skin, "As I didn't last weekend…I should go see Lucy…" Then he'd wrapped his arms around her more tightly and continued. "…but I'm disinclined to move." He'd been kind, loving, happy to spend time with her. So Lucy was dead; how could that have caused him to so suddenly act so different?

"Was I on my back in the ocean with you tryin' to convince me I should learn somethin' as useless as how to float? Was I ruttin' with you in that tiny inn room bed? Was I comfortin' you while you cried like a bloody stupid spoiled child on that damn beach?" He plowed his fist into the wall; several framed hangings crashed onto the floor.

"Maybe you were sayin' for the first time that you loved me," she whispered, hoping that she could remind him of their bond and that Lucy's death could never change that.

"Yes," he spat. "Maybe I was lyin' to you so you'd quit sulkin'."

"Lyin'? What…" Her lips moved but no sound came out.

"Oh, don't tell me you believed that bollocks!" he snarled. "The reason I 'convinced' you, as you so aptly put it, that I'd never fall for you was because it was true. You were always a convenient and barely adequate replacement for Lucy, and now she's dead _because of you_!"

"But…but…you…you said you loved me, and that night, you were…you were so sweet…" Nellie's words tumbled out in spurts, barely coherent. Her knees lost their strength and she sank to the floor.

"It was all a lie! It was just to get you to stop mopin' about. Unless you can explain how I could possibly care for someone who caused the death of somebody I loved more!"

Nellie clutched at her hair, gasping as if she were drowning in one of those dangerous currents she thought she knew how to avoid. "This can't be 'appenin'," she wept over and over.

"Stop cryin'!" he roared. "My wife is dead. You, on the other hand, have _nothin'_ to cry about!"

"_I'm _your wife!" Nellie bawled. "_You _proposed to _me_! You agreed Lucy was Benjamin's wife, not yours! And she was stark ravin' mad and you _knew _it!"

"So it's all right she's dead because of you, because she was sick in the head?"

"It ain't me fault she's dead! I didn't make 'er ill! I didn't want to be gone over the weekend—that was _your _idea!"

"But I was with _you_," he growled. "Do you know why I suggested the trip?"

"'Cause it was supposed to be our honeymoon." Nellie could barely get the words out and even she couldn't understand them.

"Because I wanted to make you feel better. You were whinin' about how I wasn't goin' to be faithful to you, so I thought I'd do somethin' nice for you. If not for you, I'd have seen Lucy and maybe she'd still be alive!" He attacked the wall again, this time with a vicious kick, and it hurt him and he staggered back, cursing.

"But what if she died on Saturday, and you'd've gone to see 'er on Sunday?" Any argument about Sweeney caring for her now useless, she turned to logic. "What if they wouldn't've let you take 'er to the 'ospital, or the doctors still couldn't save 'er?"

"There was a chance! And thanks to you, she still died!"

Nellie wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if in an embrace. "So…you don't…you don't care about me? Not even a little?"

"Perhaps I did, for a while, after you nearly drove yourself mad killin' the Judge," he said coldly. "You do perform all the household chores adequately and I must admit that fucking you is rather pleasant, but the only person I really loved is dead thanks to you…and for that…" He stormed over to her and she looked up at him, trembling. "…I hate you."

She moaned as if he'd struck her. So he hated her, again. After all they'd been through together and everything she'd done for him, he hated her. "Sweeney, please, it ain't me fault Lucy's dead. The Lucy you knew was dead long before you even got back from Australia! You know that!" Anything to convince him she wasn't responsible, if that had any prayer of bringing him back to her.

She couldn't believe that just an hour ago they'd been as emotionally close as two people could get.

"Tell me, Mrs. Lovett…" he began, turning away from her.

"That ain't me name anymore. I'm Mrs. Todd, and you call me Nellie. I'm married to you!"

"_Quiet!_"

Of all things, Nellie found herself wondering how Toby could sleep through this.

"Tell me…do you love me?"

"Yes, I do. You know I love you. I'd die for you."

"Good. So why don't you?"

This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be saying such terrible things when earlier that day he'd cared about her. She got up shakily and took his arm. "I'd do anythin' for you. So tell me what I can do to…to make you feel better. I'm…I'm good at that, remember?"

He gripped her shoulders and forced her down on the bed. He dug his knees into her stomach, tearing open the front of her nightgown. Buttons clattered on the floorboards. "_This_ is all you're good for, and I could get it from any whore walkin' the street!" His hands brutally assaulted her tender exposed flesh, pinching and clawing, and she yelped, coming close to screaming for Toby to help her. But then Sweeney pulled back with a growled "Disgusting" and dropped the ripped fabric. She pulled the rent cloth over herself, hiding, and he turned back to the wall.

"Nobody can ever replace my Lucy. If I can't have Lucy, I don't want anyone."

"Love, I've told you, you've got'ta let Lucy go or you'll never be 'appy. I just want you to be 'appy."

"No you don't." His voice was a bit quieter now, and choked, as if he were crying. His rage was petering out, turning into sorrow. Nellie had to suppress the urge to go wrap her arms around him, which earlier that day he'd have found comforting. "You're the woman who told me you could bake the men I killed into pies instead of carin' I was killin' people. You don't care about anyone but yourself."

She wanted to defend herself on that point, but instead she whimpered "I didn't 'til you came along." When he only made a sound of disbelief, she tried again. "Sweeney…just a few hours ago you really cared for me. Perhaps…perhaps you didn't love me, but you cared. Are you sure…are you sure you ain't just angry? Do you really mean all…all these 'orrible things you're sayin'? Do you really…not want me?"

He turned and regarded her with a withering gaze. "You were a mistake. You cost me everythin' Sweeney Todd might've had."

"But you 'ad_ me_. I took care of you. I know Lucy couldn't've cared for you like me!"

"It doesn't matter what you _do_. It's who you _are_. And not only are you not Lucy, you are _nothin'_ like her." He was in control now, at least in control of his rage, but she could see the tears dripping off his face; she extended a shaking hand as if to wipe them away.

"But I can still 'elp you," she moaned. "We can get through this."

"There is no '_we'_!" he shouted. Then a pause, then: "If you actually do care about me, then get out of my life. I never want to see you again." He turned away from her, leaning both his arms and then his forehead against the wall.

"No," she choked. "No…just this mornin' you said you loved me…"

He swiveled his head briefly to look at her one last time. "Wench."

For a moment there was silence except for Nellie sobbing. Her whole world crumbled inside her head as she tried to imagine going on with life knowing Sweeney hated her, knowing that she had given all she could to help the man she loved and yet utterly failed him. The one thing she had clung to even when he was being cruel to her before was the knowledge that she could make him happy…but instead she had brought him more misery. Her own words came back to her: _I never said I couldn't live without you. I said I wouldn't wan'na do it_.

Her prediction had been absolutely right.

The thought of Toby stayed her for a minute, but she didn't want to inflict the task of caring for his half-mad, brokenhearted "mother" after this was all over should she survive it. He deserved better.

Her legs trembled so violently when she got up that she nearly fell, but somehow she managed to walk to where her beloved husband who hated her stood. She reached for his razor and drew it from the holster, and her fingers were so weak and shaky she could barely open it. She spoke in a voice just above a whisper, as clearly as she could on the faint hope that he would hear her. "If this is what you really want…then I'm sorry I failed you, my love." She laid the razor against her throat, right where the little scar was that remained from the day Sweeney nearly killed her, and pressed hard. She began feeling the exquisite sting of the keen blade slicing through skin and tissue at the same time as she tugged at his shoulder to make him turn around and, with her last vestiges of strength, stood on tiptoe and kissed him goodbye.

He gave a snarl of disgust and shoved her, and just as she stumbled the blade met her jugular and a fountain of glistening red burst forth from her pulsing white throat. He had pushed her at such an angle that she twisted as she fell, and when she landed face-down the razor buried itself greedily in her neck up to the hilt. She lay still, relieved of suffering at last.

Sweeney saw none of this; he had turned his back on her as soon as he had shoved her, and he had not seen the shower of her blood nor felt it as a few warm droplets collided with his back, and he did not hear the sound of her body hitting the floor over his own dry sobs. He cried over the loss of his dear Lucy, the frustration that Nellie thought a kiss from her would solve anything, the sheer horrendousness of the universe, everything. He sank to his knees, dragging his hands along the wall.

He did not know how long he spent crying. It could have been hours; it felt like years. But finally the tears would no longer come, and his exhausted body slumped onto the floor, and he fell into a state that was more unconsciousness than mere sleep.

* * *

Hours later, Sweeney Todd's eyes flickered open. The first thing he realized, like a crushing weight breaking every bone in his body, was that Lucy was dead. His last link to the rosy past of Benjamin Barker, gone. He turned his head to the side, feeling unable to move anything else. Where was Nellie? He wanted her there. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and cry while she held him.

"Nellie?" His voice was weak, raspy. "Nellie?"

Then his blood ran cold. He'd been blind with rage when he'd returned home because that slimy greasy oily bastard Fogg had flinched when he'd swung with the razor, and if only blood had been spilled his anger would have been sated. What had he said to Nellie? He only remembered lashing out, wanting to hurt her because she'd been with him the night Lucy died. He'd wanted vengeance, he always, always wanted vengeance, and he'd attacked the wrong person. After what he'd done, could she forgive him?

"Nellie?" he choked. "Pet…I'm sorry…would you come here?"

There was no answer. Had she gone to sleep somewhere else after his tirade? He vaguely recalled the last thing he said to her being some insult; had she stormed off? If she were somewhere else in the building, she probably couldn't hear him.

"Nellie?" He called her name for the third time, struggling to be louder. "Nellie, please, what…whatever I said last night…I didn't mean it…"

He tried to turn over, but his whole body ached and his head throbbed. His eyes felt so swollen from crying that his vision was limited. He thought back to the previous night, to his misguided fury…what had he said? Terrible things, cruel things, but he couldn't remember…at least not much. He'd said he hated her, that she couldn't replace Lucy…he'd even attacked her physically. Had that really been him, last night? His thoughts came in half-connected fragments. He'd promised he'd never hurt Nellie again, he hadn't meant to break that promise…Lucy's death had just been too much for him to handle…he'd been too angry to stop himself from assailing someone, if it had been anyone but Nellie he'd have killed them outright. And if he'd been in his right mind, he never would have gone after Nellie at all—she was his only ally in this fucked-up world, for heaven's sake. What he had done and said to her the previous night was surely too much; she'd never forgive him. He'd be alone, and he didn't want to be alone.

Reaching out for support from the wall, he struggled to his feet. And it was a struggle; he felt as if the weight of Lucy's death and his horrible, unforgivable treatment of his wife were pulling him down, and everything hurt. Finally he was standing. When he turned around, what he saw nearly sent him sprawling back to the floorboards.

Nellie was face-down on the floor, her limbs at odd angles. Sweeney's mind raced: _Last night, she tried to kiss me and I pushed her…did she hit her head, or…?_

Then he saw the blood.

The familiar disgusting purple-brown of dried blood was spattered against the wall, the bedspread flecked with the same hideous color. And Nellie's head lay in a pool of the congealed blood, the thick substance matting her curls.

"No…not my Nellie, not her too…"

He took hold of her shoulders, and they were hard and cold. Of all the stupid things, he remembered her saying it took three hours for a corpse to start stiffening…so how long did it take to stiffen completely? He managed to turn her over and the sight that met his eyes was the most sickening thing he had ever seen, worse than the half-dissected body in the bakehouse, even worse than any atrocity he'd seen in prison. As Nellie had been lying face-down, all the blood had pooled at the front of her body, and one half of her face had been protected from this by being pressed against the floor and the other half was a strange blue-gray, her white scars standing out, livid and obscene. That face had probably been rather pretty before she met Sweeney Todd. Her eyes were open and staring blankly, lightless like black marbles, somehow accusing.

"But I didn't kill you…" The words came out mangled. "How…"

He forced his eyes below her face and saw that her own hand was wrapped around what appeared to be some sort of knife handle which in a second he identified as the hilt of one of his razors. There was a deep slash that cut many centimeters into her throat until it ended where the razor was completely buried in her flesh. She killed herself, he thought, and with a violent lurch of his stomach he realized that the kiss she'd given him hadn't been to comfort him; it had been to say goodbye. And he'd pushed her away. He found himself hoping she hadn't suffered too much, but of course she had. She'd died because of what he'd said to her, half of which he didn't even recall. She'd died thinking he wanted her dead…thinking the man she loved hated her. Maybe her death had been quick, but the circumstances had been horrid.

Something else squirmed into his hazy, tormented memory. He had heard her voice, right before she kissed him. He'd blocked it out at the time, not wanting to hear whatever she had to say. Her last words to him, and he hadn't been listening. What had she said? Had she apologized for angering him? Had she begged him to forgive her? Had she told him she loved him?

"It looks like you were right, my pet," he whispered. "I don't listen to you enough."

Acting on an instinct he didn't even understand, he knelt and reached for Nellie's body. He pulled her away from the puddle of blood and crawled to her and tried to pick her up, but the corpse was stiff and unyielding and wouldn't be cradled and clutched to his chest. So he rested her head in his lap and caressed her hair the way she had done just a few nights ago while she read to him in that animated voice so that was perfect for storytelling. He remembered that they'd had candles lit and their glow had touched Nellie's white skin and turned it a warm gold. His hands sifting through the curls were much, much gentler than they'd ever been when she was alive.

"I had my vengeance," he whispered bitterly. Someone had died to pay for Lucy's death, only it had been the wrong person—the person who had taken his revenge on Judge Turpin for him. "I had my…salvation…" He brushed his hand slowly against her icy cheek. "Nellie…why did you have to do this?"

Except how could she not have done it? He'd damaged her once, when he attacked her face. After she had proved how devoted she was, they'd gotten closer, he'd brought her confidence back, he'd even said he loved her…and then he called it all stupid, or a mistake, or whatever he had said. A person could only take so much. And he thought he might have said he wanted her out of his life. She'd said herself she didn't want to live without him. He couldn't have said more perfect things to make her kill herself if he'd tried.

In essence, he'd killed her.

Oh, her hand had held the razor. If he went to court for the murder of Nellie Todd, even the most corrupt judge would rule the death a suicide. But he knew he was responsible. Benjamin Barker's naïve belief that every crime would get a punishment had become twisted when it became Sweeney Todd's bloodlust and desire for revenge and his stupid, stupid temper. Madness was indeed deadly, perhaps deadlier than the blade lodged in poor Nellie's throat. He noticed water dripping onto her dead face and tried to wipe it away, but it kept reappearing and he realized he was crying and the water was really his tears. He lifted the collar of her nightdress to dab her face dry, and noticed that it was completely unfastened and all the buttons were gone. There were scratches on her chest. He had trouble controlling his hands as he maneuvered the white cloth to cover her. She shouldn't be like this, dead in a ripped nightgown. She deserved better.

So he got up, carefully lowering her head to the floor as if she still might feel the impact if he simply let her fall, and went to her wardrobe. He had never figured out all of her complicated undergarments, so the only article of clothing he took was the blue-violet dress that he'd tried to give Lucy despite the fact that when Nellie wore it, it looked like it was made for her. Maybe she'd be more comfortable without her corset anyway. He had to struggle to pry her stiff fingers away from the razor's handle, bending them several times before they would unclench enough for him to remove the blade from her neck. He flung the razor from him without even closing it. He didn't want to see his former friend covered in his wife's blood. He couldn't move her arm, but managed to get the nightgown off her. He felt a nauseous guilt at that; he'd seen her naked many times, of course, but it seemed disrespectful for her to be unclad without knowing about it. Clothing her in the indigo dress was torturous, like dressing a statue, every touch of his fingers against her cold, clammy skin a reminder of how her body was once warm and soft and flexible. But eventually he had her dressed, and he took the torn nightgown that had already been drenched in blood and cleaned the dried reddish stuff from her throat as best he could. He reached to close her eyes, out of respect, and because her dead stare seemed so accusatory, but he left her eyelids up. He deserved to be glared at. He deserved much worse than that…

He cradled her head in his lap again, wishing he could wash her hair or at least braid it so it didn't look so matted, but he didn't think he could manage to turn her over again to get at the back of her head. So he ran his fingers through the blood-tacky hair to untangle it; the texture of the dirty curls made him feel sick to his stomach, but he didn't stop until he had worked out all the knots.

Now what? He was Nellie's husband; with her dead, all her property would go to him. But he couldn't live in this building where Lucy's ghost would make the upper story cold and eerie and the fresh, painful memory of Nellie would torment him every time he glanced over to the counter where she had once worked or tried to sleep in the bed they had once shared. He couldn't sleep without her anyway. He couldn't imagine waking up without her heartbeat against his ear, taking a meal without her seated next to him and placing kisses on his cheek, walking anywhere in public without her on his arm. Even if he got out of the building, found a boarding house or inn, what would be the point? There would be no one to comfort him when his rage seized him without warning, no one to understand what he had been through. If he told any other woman he used to kill his customers as practice for taking revenge, she would go straight to the law. And he knew he'd never find anyone else who would kill for him or die for him; poor dedicated Nellie had done both. Maybe she was better off dead; now he could never hurt her again, inadvertently or otherwise.

Nellie would want him to find someone else, to be happy. But he knew perfectly well that was impossible. She had once asked him what was keeping him alive, and he'd thought that might be Lucy at first, but then not been able to come up with a response. Well, now he knew. She didn't want to live without him, and he returned the feelings. She'd loved him, and he hadn't thought he returned those feelings either…but with her lying dead across his lap, he realized he did. When he'd told Nellie he loved her to raise her spirits, he'd thought he was lying, but the "lie" had been true. Maybe it wasn't the same kind of love he'd felt for Lucy, but it had been love nonetheless.

Sweeney looked up with a start when he heard scuffling noises outside the door, and tightened his hand around Nellie's outstretched one that had been resting on the floor when he'd found her lying there. Toby was awake. The boy would be devastated; he'd considered Nellie his mother. He wouldn't understand why she would kill herself when she still had to take care of him. Maybe it would be better if he never found out Nellie had taken her own life…

For a moment, Sweeney took his eyes off of his wife's corpse and gazed blankly into space. It had all happened so suddenly. At this time the previous day, he had probably been just waking up, and Nellie had been awake for a few moments and was waiting. She'd kissed him, said "Good morning" and "I love you," and he'd said both back to her. Now she'd never speak again.

There was a knock at the door. Sweeney froze.

"Mum?" called Toby's voice. "Are you awake? I was just wonderin' about breakfast…if I could maybe 'elp you…"

The boy opened the door a crack and peeked inside, presumably to see if his mother was awake. He noticed Sweeney sitting on the floor.

"Mr. Todd? Where's Mum?"

"She's here," said Sweeney simply, resuming his stroking of Nellie's hair.

"Mum?" Toby pushed the door open farther, rubbing his eyes.

"She can't hear you."

The dead woman's son stepped into the room. "What're you doin' on the floor? What do you mean, she can't 'ear me?" He walked over to where Sweeney sat. "Why's she dressed…?" Suddenly he reeled, nearly falling over backwards, his eyes wide as saucers. He'd seen Nellie's lifeless expression, or maybe the cut on her throat, or even the blood on the walls and bedsheets. "She's dead!"

"Yes," Sweeney whispered. His hand briefly moved to brush a stray curl from Nellie's eyes.

Toby began to sob. "You killed 'er. She loved you, and you killed 'er!"

"I might as well have," said Sweeney, half to himself.

Staggering, the boy fled from the room. A moment later he returned with one of Nellie's gleaming kitchen knives.

_How fitting_, thought Sweeney. _She died by my razor. Now I'll die by one of her knives._

Tears were streaming down the boy's face. "Why?"

"I was angry. It was an accident."

"Then you should've been more careful!" Toby wailed. "You never should harm nobody! 'specially not somebody what loves you!" He approached Sweeney with the knife raised, and Sweeney made no move to stop him. "I shouldn't've trusted you. You killed my mum and now I'm gon'na kill you."

"I know."

Sweeney felt strangely at peace as Toby stood behind him with the knife, ready to cut his throat. He wasn't going to have to go on without Nellie, and he was going to be punished fittingly for his murder of a woman whose greatest crime against him was loving him too much.

Sweeney Todd's penultimate act alive was this: he bent over the body, his hand tenderly cupping the back of Nellie's skull, and kissed her on the forehead. His last words were: "I'll see you soon, my love." And his last act on Earth was to tip his head back in acceptance of his fate.

Toby dug the cold, hard blade of his mother's knife into the barber's throat and pressed and pulled and cut a deep slash across his neck. There was no gush of blood; his head lolled forward, and his blood began spilling from the gash almost like a waterfall, dripping vivid red onto the still face of the baker. When Toby saw this—the blood running in profanely lovely rivulets over his mother's face—he gasped and quickly took hold of her, trying to pull her free of the trickling blood. (Why was half her face that awful bluish color?) He grabbed the torn white nightdress, still on the floor, and carefully wiped Nellie's face clean.

Even in his grief, he noticed that the nightgown was already bloody. It was heavily spattered with blood; she must have been wearing it when she died. Then, Toby's numb brain wondered, how had she gotten into the dress? Had Mr. Todd changed her clothes out of some strange guilt after killing her? But he'd left her eyes open; that was wrong, that was disrespectful. Toby's fingers quivered as he pushed Nellie's eyelids down. As he pulled his hand away, he noticed the odd position of Nellie's right hand; it was in front of her throat. Had she been trying to shield herself from Mr. Todd? But no, her fingers were curled as if she'd been holding something, and just underneath her hand was (it nearly made Toby sick to his stomach to look) the deepest part of the cut on her neck. It looked like _she _had been holding whatever blade had killed her. So…she must have taken her own life.

At the same time as Toby was flooded with relief that Nellie hadn't died as a result of his failure to protect her from Mr. Todd, his mind reeled with the thought that Nellie had killed herself when she still had to look after him. "Why, Mum?" Toby moaned. "Why?"

But Mr. Todd had said something, right when Toby first noticed Nellie was dead, something Toby had barely heard but remembered because it made no sense. _I might as well have killed her. _So he hadn't killed her, but had he done something to make her kill herself? That might explain why he'd been holding her gently, why he'd changed her into the pretty dress; he hadn't meant to drive her to suicide, and he'd felt guilty. So Sweeney Todd still deserved what he'd gotten, because he had caused Nellie's death.

Now it was Toby holding Nellie's head in his lap and weeping. What was he to do now, without his mother? Not only had he been her apprentice (he should be helping her fix breakfast right now, it wasn't _fair _that she was gone!), she had been the first person to ever show him any kindness. What was the chance of finding another woman who would adopt him—who Toby would even let adopt him when Nellie was still his mother, alive or dead?

For a moment, the boy considered picking up the knife he had dropped and taking it to his own throat. But no; his mother had taught him to be strong. She wouldn't want him to give up. He would never find another woman who he would accept as his mother, but…but maybe he could still find a baker who could take him on as an apprentice.

His tears still flowed freely as he set Nellie gingerly down on the floor, then picked her up—struggling with her dead weight—and placed her on the bed. He would have to make sure his mother got a proper funeral. But then, he might have to stand trial for killing Mr. Todd; if he said he thought Mr. Todd was going to kill him too, and had been protecting himself, would he be found innocent? He couldn't take the risk. He would have given anything to see Nellie's funeral (funeral! And she'd been alive and well the day before, and Toby would have never imagined having to think such horrible things), but she would rather see him free and missing her funeral than in prison. Shaking, he got up. He wanted to curl into a ball on the floor and cry and cry until tears wouldn't come anymore, grieving for his dead mother, but she'd always said tears never solved anything. So with a mind to go find the appropriate people to take care of his Mum's body and funeral, he began proceeding out of the house, slowly, as if he would break apart if he moved any quicker. After he made sure his poor mother would be seen to, he would gather his things—and his Mum's recipes, and maybe he could say good-bye to Micaiah—and leave to escape the law after killing Mr. Todd. And he would find another apprenticeship. He could become the best baker in all of London, and his Mum would watch him from the other world and be proud.

The sky was cloudy and overcast when he finally made it out the front door. He looked around, still shaking a little. The familiar gray London street seemed distant and foreign with the image of his mother's dead face as her head lay in his lap still so painfully fresh; he shook his head, pushed it away. As much as he wanted to collapse, to go to sleep and never wake up and never think about his Mum's horrible death again, he wouldn't. Mum would tell him that same thing she'd said when he once asked her how she was going to get through Mr. Todd's cruelty: when you're at rock bottom, the only place left to go is up. Toby looked up at the sky with his tear-swollen eyes and told himself that maybe, someday, the sun would shine again.

* * *

A/N: I know, you all hate me. This isn't the way I planned the story from the beginning, but there were some things I really liked about this ending, especially the way it paralleled the original story with Sweeney dying over his wife's body. And even though Nellie and Sweeney died, poor Toby retained his sanity. But if some of you really, really need to see Nellie and Sweeney survive the end of this story, I can write the ending I originally planned and post that. As the author, I think this ending fits better, but as a fanfiction author, I also have to think about what the fans want to read.

P.S. Yes, livor mortis is nasty. Sorry about your face, Nellie, but that's what happens after death. The blood follows gravity if the heart's not beating.


	17. Enough XAlternate EndingX

Blade of Madness

Chapter Sixteen (Alternate): Enough

Summary: The storyline is dramatically altered one night when Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium is broken into and Sweeney Todd's true opinion of his neighbor is revealed.

Disclaimer: If I owned _Sweeney Todd_, neither Sweeney nor Mrs. Lovett would have died. So needless to say, I don't own it.

Pairings: AnthonyJohanna implied, Sweenett

Author's Notes: Final chapter, if you couldn't stomach the original ending. The beginning of the chapter is the same as the first Chapter Sixteen until "Why would I need savin'?" It's longer that the original ending, too.

* * *

For the next week, Nellie spent much of her time in the bakehouse with Toby, teaching him. They would bring trays of pies out together, and Nellie would make proud remarks about her new apprentice when the customers raved about the food. After working hours, Toby would run off to spend time with Micaiah and Sweeney would come downstairs to be with Nellie. The weather was getting warmer and often they would sit outside in the ale garden, sharing a drink, occasionally exchanging kisses over the rim of the glass. Nellie never mentioned moving to the seaside, so Sweeney never had to make any excuses about why they couldn't do that. She was happier than he'd ever seen her without being annoying. While Sweeney had felt reassured that he was near Lucy right when he and Nellie returned from their holiday, that feeling faded quickly. Nellie kept him busy; after they'd enjoyed their picnics on the beach so much that they took their supper to the park a few times before returning 186 Fleet Street for their drinks when night fell. Some nights, when they didn't feel like going out, they took their supper in the kitchen, and then went to sit on the loveseat with Sweeney resting his head on Nellie's lap while she read to him; traveler's tales, usually, which offered an entertaining temporary escape from reality. On Friday, Nellie insisted on inviting Micaiah for supper, and Sweeney actually managed to be decent; he even seemed to enjoy the visit. (Micaiah was quite a little spitfire and reminded him somewhat of Nellie. It was also amusing to see how besotted Toby was with the girl, much like Benjamin Barker had been with Lucy. He just hoped he hadn't acted that obviously starry-eyed.)

On Saturday, Nellie and Toby made an attempt to cook the corn oysters that Nellie had so enjoyed at the eatery with Sweeney on their wedding day. The project was ambitious, Nellie warned her apprentice; working from a recipe was one thing, but trying to imitate something you'd eaten was another thing entirely. It was an extensive operation, what with Nellie having to try to remember all the ingredients she had identified in the dish when she'd been eating it and then finding all of them at the market; the ingredients were only the beginning. It took Nellie and Toby several hours to try recipe after recipe and get the proportions right, but they finally succeeded. Nellie had been writing down every combination of ingredients they tried, and kept the one that worked and filed it with the rest of her recipes. Sweeney watched the entire process with amusement and growing admiration for Nellie's cooking abilities; she was a damn good baker once she had the right ingredients. Not to mention the corn oysters were delicious, although all three of them laughed about the fact that they'd taste-tested so many batches that none of them were hungry anymore. "We may be sick of them, but I'd lay odds we'll make a killin' sellin' these to the customers as appetizers," remarked Nellie.

Saturday night, Nellie was exhausted from work and the long corn oyster experiment. Sweeney had a sudden inspiration while she was sprawled supine and half-asleep on their bed and began working the stress from the muscles of her back. She sighed and her shoulder blades rose agreeably against the pressure if his hands. "Thanks, love. Where'd you learn to do this?"

"I've always found it easy. You just…follow the natural lines of the body."

"That's what I do, too…a little to the right…mmm…but some say they've got'ta learn it."

After he was done massaging the stress out of her back, she proved to him that she was just as capable of the same despite her lack of instruction. Sweeney hadn't needed any convincing, but he enjoyed it anyway. "Nellie, what do you say we make a tradition out of this?"

"A tradition, eh? You're a creature of 'abit, ain't you?"

"That, and I think I'd enjoy gettin' a massage from you every night. You complainin'?"

"'Course not, sweet. It's a lovely idea." She paused. "Sweeney…do you ever see us bein' 'appier than this?"

"I don't know. Why do you ask?"

"'Cause I don't. And that ain't a bad thing—I don't think I've ever been 'appier than I am now."

Sweeney couldn't agree with that statement, but he was certainly happier than he'd been in fifteen years. He kissed her. "Good."

Sweeney nearly didn't go to see Lucy that weekend. He came close to forgetting his visit, and only remembered because he wanted to see her more than usual because he hadn't done so the previous weekend. Nellie seemed to be pleased at the news that Sweeney wouldn't have gone to the asylum if he hadn't missed his last visit; she gave him a kiss and a "'urry back; I'll 'ave some tea waitin' for you."

So he walked to the asylum's massive front doors and knocked. The workers knew him by now and went to fetch Mr. Fogg.

"Ah, Mr. Todd."

"Yes—I'm here to see Lucy."

"I'm afraid you can't, sir."

"What do you mean, I can't? We had an agreement…"

"Late last week, I'm afraid there was a disease—a flu, I believe—that affected many of my children."

"So you won't let me in because there are still people ill?"

"No, sir…your wife took ill. She died last weekend."

Sweeney took an astonished step backward. "She…she's dead?"

"I'm afraid so," said Fogg with simpering sympathy that was likely affected.

"But…how…how could you have let this happen? You call the people here your 'children' and you let them die?"

"We brought in a doctor, but there was only so much he could do."

"You son of a whore…" Sweeney drew his razor and flew at Mr. Fogg, who knew enough about unstable behavior to step back. Two grey-faced asylum workers grabbed hold of his arms and pulled him back; he fought, lashed out as much as he could, but they shoved him and he fell.

"You'll not be welcome here again!" Fogg shouted out the door before it closed.

Sweeney was struggling for breath. Lucy was dead, really dead, gone forever. Any hope of her recovering had just been brutally ripped from him. Fogg, that useless piece of slime, hadn't been able to keep his own 'children' alive. If only Sweeney had been there, gone to see her, maybe he could have done something, but he hadn't been able to visit her.

And why _hadn't _he been able to visit her?

Nellie looked up when the front door opened so violently it slammed against the wall.

"Back so soon, love? I told you to 'urry, but you've never come back this soon."

"You—be quiet."

Nellie got up from where she sat at the kitchen table and started when she saw his expression. "What's wrong, love?"

"My Lucy's dead! That's what's wrong!"

"Dead? But 'ow?"

"An illness. Can you guess when?" he snarled, storming over to her.

"Well…I'm certain I don't know, dear…"

"Last weekend…when I was with you!" His hand shot out and gripped her, hard, under the chin. Her hands flew to her throat, but she wasn't strong enough to break his grip.

"But I didn't…I didn't kill 'er…" she choked out.

Sweeney let her go, if one could call it that. He flung her against the table and she was thrown halfway onto her back. She got up, one hand massaging the tender places on her throat where she would surely have bruises later. "What 'appened to 'I won't 'urt you again?'"

"I told you to _be quiet_! You always talk too much."

"Sweeney…" She reached for him. "I know you was 'avin' trouble lettin' go of Lucy, but you knew she was 'opeless, right?" She threaded her fingers through his hair. "It ain't like much 'as changed. We can get through this, I can 'elp you…"

"Really?" He clutched her wrist and yanked her hand away from his hair, and she cried out. "Tell me, my _pet_, what is so bloody special about _you_?"

"Mum?" Their argument had woken Toby, who had come into the kitchen. "Mum, are you all right?"

Nellie quickly pulled her arm from Sweeney's grip. "We've just got into a bit of an argument, dear. You go on back to sleep. It'll be all right."

"Are you sure, Mum?" He glanced warily at Mr. Todd's contorted face.

"Of course I am. You just get yourself to sleep and we'll 'ave this sorted by mornin', all right?"

After a pause, Toby nodded and shuffled off. When he was gone, Sweeney seized Nellie by the back of the neck and dragged her into their bedroom.

"I'm comin', sweet, you don't 'ave to pull me along like this…ow!"

"Shut…your…filthy…mouth."

He shoved her into the room and shut the door. "The boy can't save you now, my dear."

"Why would I need savin'?" she quavered.

"Because, my pet, you're the reason Lucy's dead."

"What?" Nellie cried. "But 'ow do you figure that?"

"If I hadn't been away, I could have seen Lucy. I could have gotten her to a hospital. But I was with _you_! If not for you, Lucy'd still be here."

"You're bein' ridiculous," Nellie snapped, being cross to cover the fact that she was frightened. She could feel her skin throbbing under her chin and at the nape of her neck, evidence that Sweeney was angry enough to hurt her. "What day did Lucy die?"

"I don't know."

"What if she died on Saturday? You could've gone to see 'er and found 'er dead anyway. Or she might've been so sick there was no curin' 'er."

"Be quiet. I told you to shut your mouth!"

Nellie shook a little, but pressed on. He loved her, didn't he? Even angry, he wouldn't do anything too horrible…right? "Love, you need to calm down. There was never any 'ope of 'er gettin' back to…to normal. Ain't like much 'as changed; I mean, you seemed like you were startin' to need to not see her."

"I said…_be quiet_!"

He flew at her, and before she could stop him she felt dull, sudden aches all over, her face, her stomach, her neck, her legs. It took her a moment to realize that Sweeney was raining blow after blow down on her, striking not with a palm but with a closed fist, kicking her, even. A kick slammed into her stomach like a cannonball; dressed in her nightgown and as such without the protection of her corset, she went down, gasping for breath. Another scathing blow to the side of her head and she was completely on the floor. Only then did she manage to burst out: "Stop that! You got no right to hit me!"

"I'm your husband. It's legal," Sweeney snarled.

"You said you'd never hurt me again!"

Sweeney acted as if he'd never heard her outcry. "I knew Lucy was mad. Sick. Whatever she was. But I never gave up hope of her recovering."

"That don't make sense!"

"Neither did you thinkin' I'd fall for you!" The words that he didn't actually love her were on the tip of his tongue. But that could come later, when his logic didn't hinge on the fact that he "loved" her. "So who the _fuck _are you to tell me what I can't hope for?"

Nellie stood, slowly, shakily. "I'm your wife. Remember?" She was trying to be angry, to react with ire at his violence, but her whole body ached, and the pain was making her cry, not shout. Worse than the physical pain, though, was the broken promise. She'd thought he felt enough regret at hurting her that he'd never do so again. Did a promise to her really matter so little in the face of bloody mad useless Lucy up and dying?

"Only because you guilted me into proposing to you! Did you really think you could replace Lucy?"

"I bloody 'oped I could replace somebody who don't even remember your name!"

He whirled on her again, his fist slamming into her face. There was a sickening _crunch _as her nose broke and she staggered backward, her hand flying to her face and coming away dripping with blood.

"You will _never _replace Lucy! You think because you nearly drove yourself spare killing Turpin I'd suddenly be smitten with you?" He swung at her again; she dropped to the floor to avoid the blow. "Lucy was everything that was good about women. She was beautiful, she was graceful, she was modest, she was the kindest person to ever walk the Earth…and you are _nothing_ like her!" He seized her by the hair and she shrieked as he pulled her to a standing position. "Seeing her reminded me of how she used to be, as I couldn't get any of it from _you_!" His hand flew at her face again, but this time she lashed out with one leg, her foot crashing squarely into his kneecap. He cursed and reflexively released her.

"'Cause Lucy would never 'ave done _that_! I was right, about what I said right after Johanna left! You like your women weak! Well, I'm bloody sorry I don't fly to pieces when life gets 'ard!" She raised one open hand, ready to crack Sweeney across the face, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Despite what he'd just done, they had been together too long, she cared about him too much. So instead of slapping him, she shouted, "I could stay and try to make you feel better, but if you wan'na sulk about your deranged Lucy, I'll leave you to your tantrum. Honestly—you're worse than a child sometimes!"

She stormed out, but she paused just outside the doorway. Sweeney was in a violent mood, and it wasn't safe for her to be around him. But it _should _be safe for her to be around him. He shouldn't have broken his promise not to hurt her. Besides, they loved each other, right? Even Sweeney Todd shouldn't hurt someone he loved.

There was a loud _thud _followed by a sharp crashing sound in the room behind her. It sounded as if Sweeney had punched the wall and a hanging had fallen down as a result. She winced and, fighting the compulsion to go back to Sweeney and comfort him, tiptoed upstairs. She cleaned the blood from her face in Sweeney's washbasin and gingerly touched her nose, trying to work it back into place. Miraculously, the bleeding had slowed to a tiny trickle. She briefly considered walking to Dr. Murrin's house, but he was likely asleep. She found a tattered handkerchief that Sweeney used to clean his razors and tore small strips from it, rolled them up, and lodged them in her nostrils to stanch the bloodflow and keep everything in its rightful place. She could go see Dr. Murrin in the morning; that would give her time to make up a story about how she'd been hurt.

Sweeney's cot was still upstairs; he'd started sleeping in Nellie's bed before they'd gotten around to bringing his bed to the lower level. Neither of them had bothered to take the sheets off, either. So Nellie pulled back the bedclothes and climbed in. She could have sworn she identified the scent of Sweeney still clinging to the pillowcase. It was comforting, even though she knew perfectly well he was downstairs, mourning Lucy. She closed her eyes, more out of distress than sleepiness. She wanted to be with him while he was upset. Maybe she'd been too hard on him, and that had caused him to lash out at her.

Without Sweeney beside her, Nellie slept fitfully that night. The smell of him on the pillow was enough to soothe her into sleep for a few hours only, and she rose very early and spent an hour alternately reading and worrying about Sweeney before she judged the time to be late enough to go see Dr. Murrin. She didn't think a broken nose was too serious, but one blow from Sweeney had also struck her in the eye, and she had heard of people going blind from such things.

Again, Nellie was showed into the doctor's house on Cloverdale Street by the young bespectacled assistant. Dr. Murrin seemed pleased to see her. "Mrs. Lovett. Your face has healed up nicely…yet you seem to have found yourself some new injuries. Come in."

"That'll be Mrs. Todd now, sir." Nellie smiled tremulously, but she extended her hand to display her wedding ring.

"Really? Congratulations."

"Thank you. Er…I weren't sure 'ow serious a broken nose was, but I thought I should ask you to look."

"Certainly. Have a seat." She settled into a chair, back straight. The doctor carefully probed her nose with his fingertips. Nellie winced and tried not to cry out. "Well, your nose is broken, but there's no blood collected between the nostrils and everything seems to be in place."

"Anythin' I should do? You know, to make sure it don't 'eal crooked?"

"Just be careful it's not injured again, and it should heal fine."

"All right. And I got…er…I think I can see all right, but I've 'eard of people losin' sight from bein' hit in the eye." She made a vague gesture aimed at her left eye, which was ringed with a bruise.

Dr. Murrin frowned, seemingly at the sight of the bruise, as he didn't seem to be examining her eye. "If there were something badly wrong with your eye, you'd have started losing vision already."

"One more thing…this." She touched the drooping corner of her mouth. "Is this ever gon'na…change?"

He paused briefly. There was a touch of regret in his voice when he said, "I'm afraid not."

Nellie got up with a sigh. "Well, I weren't never much to admire any'ow."

"Mrs. Todd."

"Yes, sir?" She turned to face him.

"It isn't necessary for me to know, but may I inquire as to how you were hurt? I recall you saying that your face was cut by some robbers who broke into your shop; was it a similar incident?"

Nellie had a story planned, and lies normally tumbled off her tongue easily. But what came out of her mouth was: "I upset Mr. Todd. 'e gave me the bruises."

The doctor's eyebrows went up. "I'm sorry."

"Eh, well…" She shrugged. "I'm afraid 'e 'as a bit of a temper." In retrospect, maybe it was good that he'd hit her. If he'd taken out his rage on her verbally instead of physically…he could have easily torn her down, and a broken heart hurt much, much more than a broken nose.

"And your cuts? Were those really from blackguards who broke into your shop?"

"That was 'im too." It felt good to tell somebody. "Me shop was robbed, and I was…attacked…but it weren't the robbers that cut me."

The doctor sighed heavily and stood up. "I hope you won't be paying me too many more visits."

"Thank you, sir. But I do 'ope you'll be payin' me shop a visit soon. You still 'ave a free pie outstandin'. Or two, if you'd rather a pie in place of me payin' you for this visit." Nellie managed a smile as she took her overcoat from the rack where she'd left it.

He chuckled lowly. "I must say that dealing with money can be a bit tiresome, and that I look forward to sampling many of your legendary meat pies."

"Legendary? Really? I believe you are tellin' me false'oods, sir!"

"Not at all."

Nellie laughed. "All right, then. Thank you again." She turned to leave.

"Something else…"

"Yes?" She paused in the doorway.

"It is part of my profession to keep my patients from meeting further harm." There was genuine concern in his voice. Suddenly the light mood created by the jests about Nellie's establishment vanished.

Nellie swallowed. "I appreciate that. But…I think I'll be all right."

"In that case, I bid you farewell, and promise that you'll be seeing me at your shop very soon."

"I do 'ope so. I'll even toss in a complimentary dish of corn oysters—me new specialty!"

"Very well. Good day, Mrs. Todd."

Nellie walked back from Cloverdale to Fleet Street. She found herself worrying a bit that Dr. Murrin would go to the law; while last night's beating had been legal because she was Sweeney's wife (as bloody stupid as that was), he could be tried for cutting her face. But Dr. Murrin wasn't the intrusive type; he just had a professional concern.

Sweeney was awake, looking wan and unkempt, seated at the kitchen table. The circles under his eyes were deeper and darker than usual. "Where've you been?" he growled when she walked in.

"I went to see the doctor. You broke me nose, after all." Nellie hung up her hat and overcoat.

"Does he know how your nose got broken?" There was a threat in his voice.

"Why would you care? And would it be beneath Mr. colder-than-ice Sweeney Todd to apologize?"

"Apologize?" he snarled.

"You promised you'd never 'urt me again. You broke that promise. I'd say that warrants an apology!"

"If I hadn't been with you, Lucy would still be alive."

"And if you 'adn't suggested we be gone durin' a weekend, maybe she'd still be alive. Or maybe you'd still 'ave gone to see 'er after she died. Or maybe even if you 'ad gotten to 'er, there'd've been nothin' any doctor could do."

"Would you stop twitterin' for once in your life?"

Nellie sighed. She hated arguing with Sweeney. "Sweeney…can we talk about this without snarlin' at each other? I know you're angry, but if you love me, why can't you just talk to me nice-like?"

Sweeney made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "You'd do well to not believe lies people tell you to get you to stop sulkin'."

Nellie stared at him, horrified. "You were lyin'?" she whispered.

"You believed me?" he smirked. She'd seen that look on his face before, but it had been absent for a while.

"Of course I did!"

Sweeney got up and shuffled into their bedroom. She followed him, only to see him climb back into bed.

"Sweeney?" she said gently. "You didn't sleep well, did you?"

"Get out."

"Are you 'ungry?"

"Get _out_."

Nellie left and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Her legs were shaking a bit. So Sweeney didn't love her. That same knowledge hadn't been too…crushing…before. Why did she feel like flying to pieces now? He still cared for her a little, right? Surely he was only upset right now. But when he felt better, he'd apologize for hitting her, and maybe, maybe he'd say he'd claimed not to love her just to hurt her feelings. He'd certainly been acting as if he loved her…

She forced the troubling thoughts from her head. She'd continue taking care of Sweeney until he was finished moping about Lucy's death. He wasn't being logical about what had happened, and she wasn't sure why; had he held out hope of Lucy's sanity returning? Was he upset about her death because she'd been a link to his past? In any case, she'd find a way to make him happy again. She always did.

Toby came in as she was pulling out the ingredients and cooking implements for breakfast, and he ended up assisting her in the preparation of the meal.

"Where's Mr. Todd?"

"Still abed. I don't think 'e slept too well last night."

"You look tired too, Mum."

She turned her head to keep Toby from seeing her face; she didn't want him to see the bruises.

"Mum?" Suspicion crept into Toby's voice.

Nellie attempted to change the subject. "Could you 'and me the salt, dear?"

"What's on your face?"

"Nothin', son."

"You got bruises!" Toby caught hold of her face. She averted her eyes so he couldn't see his frightened and angry expression. "Did Mr. Todd do this?"

"'e was upset."

"'e _hit _you!"

"I'm sure 'e's sorry."

"Didn't 'e apologize?" the boy cried.

"Of course 'e did, love," Nellie lied, taking her son's hand.

"I thought 'e said 'e weren't never gon'na 'urt you again."

"Eh, well, we all make mistakes." Nellie spoke in the most soothing tone she could manage, but she failed to pacify her devoted son.

"Mistakes? Your eye's all black and blue! And what did 'e do to your nose?"

"I went and saw the doctor this mornin'. Me nose'll be fine."

"If 'e ever puts a scratch on you again, I'll kill 'im!"

"Sweet, don't talk like that! Ain't we 'ad enough violence already?" she pled, releasing Toby's hand to take his face in both her hands. "Please, dear, just let me and Sweeney work this out between us."

Toby glanced guiltily at his mother, then nodded. "All right, Mum. Why was 'e angry with you?"

Nellie heaved a sigh and returned to her cooking. "'Cause 'is wife died while I was with 'im at the seaside last weekend. Some illness. Now 'e thinks if 'e 'adn't been with me, she'd still be alive."

Toby's brow furrowed. "That don't make much sense."

"I know. But 'e's sad, so 'e's…gettin' angry at me, just 'cause 'e can." Nellie brushed the back of her hand against her left eye to stop a tear falling and winced.

"Well…when's 'e gon'na stop bein' angry?"

"I don't know."

When breakfast was ready, Nellie piled Sweeney's meal on a tray and took it into the bedroom. Sweeney was still in bed, without any lamps lit or candles burning. She took her hand away from the tray momentarily to rap on the doorframe. "Love? I brought you some breakfast."

"I don't want it."

"Well, I'll leave it 'ere in case you change your mind." She paused. "'ow are you feelin'?"

"I'll be better after you leave."

Nellie couldn't think of what to say. With him in this mood, there was nothing that could comfort him. So she said what she felt. "I love you."

"Get out."

She blinked back tears. "I know you're upset. But you ought'a be grateful you still got me."

"Why? Because you give me a place to live? Because I get to fuck you?"

"Because I'm your wife and no other woman would put up with you. At least not the way you're actin' now." She turned on her heel and stomped out.

Sweeney didn't get out of bed for the rest of the day, nor did he eat anything. The trays of food that Nellie brought him were left untouched. That night, she slept in Sweeney's old cot again, if one could call it sleeping; her own scent had begun to cover his faint one that lingered on the sheets, and there wasn't enough of his presence there to let her sleep for more than an hour. She staggered through the day half-awake. Dr. Murrin came to her shop, and she was barely lucid enough to remember what she owed him: a free order of corn oysters and two meat pies. She managed to perk up a bit when he complimented her baking.

"I've always 'ad a talent for it. Ever since me mum first showed me 'ow to make flapjacks when I was barely big enough to reach the stovetop."

"You look weary, Mrs. Todd."

"Eh, well, you can see 'ow busy we are today, even with me son 'elpin' me."

"Your son? I didn't know you had children."

"Just me dear Toby." Nellie jerked a thumb over her shoulder at where her apprentice stood, pouring a glass of ale for a customer. "I adopted 'im months ago. 'e's me apprentice now, and a right fine one at that."

"Well, I wish both of you luck." He gave her a somber smile.

That was just after midday, and Sweeney still hadn't gotten out of bed, or eaten. Two and a half days later, he was still abed and hadn't touched any food. Nellie felt half-dead with exhaustion, having not been able to sleep at all. And being deprived of sleep made her irritable, which was part of the reason she marched into hers and Sweeney's room, announcing herself with "You know I'd do anythin' for you, but one thing I won't do is let you starve yourself."

He didn't even look at her. "I want to be with Lucy."

Having little control over her emotions after so many sleepless nights, Nellie burst out crying. "You want to die? To be with your mad Lucy? Why? What 'appened to 'I don't need anyone but you?'"

"I miss her."

"I don't know if you even believe in any sort of…of…life after death, but if you do, do you really think you and Lucy would wind up in the same place? And do you think she'll be right in the 'ead again?"

"Get out."

"No! You don't tell me to get out! I'm your wife—for better or for worse, remember? And I ain't gon'na stand by and let you wither away not takin' care of yourself." She took a few steps forward. "You ain't gon'na sulk no more. I ain't gon'na let you. You're gon'na sit up and eat somethin'. I've still got your supper that you didn't take a few hours ago."

He said nothing.

"Would you _listen _to me?"

Again, no response.

Nellie had placed the tray of food on the floor a moment earlier. She bent down and retrieved a slice of bread, baked just that morning. She sat on the bed beside Sweeney, facing him, and offered him the bread. "'ere, eat. I just made it today. It's good."

Slowly, he reached out and took the bread from her, and for a moment she thought he was going to eat it, but instead he turned over and flung it against the wall. Then he glared at her and pulled the bedclothes over his head. She sat there for a moment, her lower lip trembling. Then…

"Fine." She seized the quilt and sheets and stood up, tugging them from Sweeney's grip, and flung them to the foot of the bed.

"What the hell…?" He stirred, starting to sit up.

She placed her hands firmly on his chest and shoved. He tumbled backwards and another push from her had him off the mattress and on the floor. "This was me bed before it was yours. And I want it back."

Sweeney scrambled up. "Are you sure you don't want us together in that bed, my dear?" he sneered.

"Not with the way you've been actin' lately!" Sparks might have flown from her eyes as she held his gaze.

After a moment, Sweeney snorted and slunk out.

"And get some new nightclothes on!" Nellie hollered. "You been wearin' nothin' but those for days! It's sickenin'!"

Nellie didn't bother bringing the tray of food back into the kitchen, much less putting it into the icehouse so it wouldn't spoil and go to waste. She burrowed into the covers, breathing in the scent of her beloved Sweeney, thinking that maybe she could finally sleep.

She was interrupted by a touch on her shoulder, through the layers of bedding. Assuming it was Toby trying to get her attention, she mumbled. "I thought you was asleep, love."

There was a pause before the reply. "I can't sleep without you."

Nellie sat up. Sweeney stood at her—their—bedside. There was no hostility in his face, only weariness, and he looked as if he'd been crying a bit. "Neither can I." She spread her fingers over the quilt. "That's why I wanted to sleep 'ere. It smells like you."

Sweeney dropped to his knees, as if he didn't have the energy to stand anymore. He laid his head in her lap, and every cell in her brain screamed that she should run her hand through his hair and comfort him. She hooked her fingers behind her back and didn't touch him. "Most would agree I got every right to throw you out'a me 'ouse."

He said nothing, but he took one arm and draped it around her waist.

"You've put me through more than any woman should put up with. Before we were married, and after. You 'ad the power to stop me bein' raped and you didn't do nothin'. I told you I loved you, tryin' to get an apology out of you, and you cut me face up so I'd be ugly. You…ignored me, and when you was payin' attention to the fact that I was alive, you insulted me, belittled me, and you was ungrateful. You was sweet to me for a while, but as soon as empty-'eaded Lucy up and dies, suddenly you sayin' you love me was a lie. You break your promise not to 'urt me, and me nose. What were you gon'na say when I wanted us to go live by the seaside? Were you gon'na tell me you didn't love me then, or make up some weak story?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know why I ain't thrown you out yet?"

He said nothing.

"I asked you a question. Tell me…you…cruel, filthy bastard, why do I still love you? I should turn you out and tell you to never come back, but all I wan'na do is 'old you 'til you feel better. Why?"

Again, no answer.

"I asked you a _question_!" She pounded her fist on his back.

When he lifted his head up, she felt dampness on her nightdress. He was crying openly when he looked up at her. She'd never seen him cry that hard. Come to think of it, had she ever seen him cry at all? She couldn't help herself; she stroked his cheek, wiping the tears away.

"I'm sorry, pet."

"Well, finally. Sorry for what? You done plenty of things you ain't never apologized for!"

"For everythin'." He laid his head back down, and she caressed his hair. "It ain't your fault Lucy's dead."

"You just realized that?"

He kissed her knee through the nightdress.

"You got anythin' else to say?"

"May I stay with you?"

"Why? You need to sleep?"

"I need _you_."

She knew that was the closest thing to "I love you" she'd ever hear out of him again, so she relented. Besides, she was bloody tired. "Come up 'ere."

He climbed into their bed and she wrapped her arms around him, cradling his head against her chest. He nuzzled and kissed her wherever he could get at her skin as they lay down.

"God, I missed this," Sweeney mumbled woozily.

"So did I. It's good to 'ear you say it."

"Nellie?"

"Hmm?"

"You're so good to me."

She heaved a long breath and tilted her head back. "Heaven knows I try, sweet."

Both of them were so exhausted that more talking was out of the question. Lying close to each other again, they both fell deeply asleep within seconds.

* * *

They spent a long time in bed the next morning after they woke, fitted against each other like puzzle pieces, Nellie listening to Sweeney and occasionally comforting him with a few well-chosen words or a kiss. He couldn't explain why Lucy's death had upset him so much, but it seemed like he might have felt like his last link to the past was broken.

"I didn't even need to undress for you to tell me all this," Nellie teased gently.

"No." He left a few kisses in her hair.

"Why, love?"

"I don't know. I…I just wanted to talk, and I didn't need any calmin' down before we talked."

"You think you usually have to exercise your rights as me 'usband before you wan'na talk 'cause you're tired afterward? Or…does it just make you feel closer to me?"

"Both. Perhaps."

"Hmm."

There was a knock on the door. "Mum?"

"Yes, love?" She lifted her head up.

"Are you…um…gon'na make breakfast?"

"Soon, love. Mr. T. and I are talkin'."

Then the boy's voice was raised in alarm. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, we're only talkin'."

Nellie turned back to Sweeney. "I'd better get breakfast goin'."

"A few more minutes." His arms tightened around her.

"All right."

"Nellie?"

"Yes?"

"What now?"

"What do you mean?" Nellie felt her heart begin beating faster. She had a feeling she knew where this was going.

"Us. I've seen you angry, but I've never seen you as…upset…as you were last night."

Sweeney Todd certainly wasn't eloquent, but every word he spoke was necessary. Nellie had learned to interpret his sparse sentences. "You're askin' me if I can trust you again."

"Yes."

"Love…you know I want to. There ain't nothin' I want more than to believe I got nothin' to fear from you. But at every turn, you've shown me you ain't trustworthy. And God help me, I'll stay with you, because I want to. Even if you make the rest of me life short, I wan'na spend it with you."

Sweeney slid a hand that rested in the small of her back up her spine and over her shoulder, and ended up with his fingertips touching the little white scar on her throat. He'd heard her say similar things before, called her morbid for it. But at this point, he could no longer argue that she wasn't being logical. "What was that you said that was poetic in the most terrible way possible? About me not being safe?"

"What? Oh…I remember that. It ain't safe to sleep in your arms, but I'd still rather sleep there than anywhere else. Somethin' like that."

"My pet, I think you're mad. You must be, to want to stay with me."

"Seems I am. And it'll get me someday, likely in the form of one of your 'friends.' Madness can kill people. The two of us, we're livin' proof of that. Though oddly enough, we'd be better proof of it if we was dead. So maybe we ain't livin' proof; we're just witnesses." She laughed softly.

Instead of contradicting her, he said. "I hope you're wrong."

"I 'ope so too, dear. But the last thing I 'oped for was for you to love me, and look what that's done."

* * *

Weeks passed, then months.

Nellie's nose healed without leaving any visible trace of the break. The other bruises faded, and Nellie forgave Sweeney's broken promise. But Sweeney, in addition to not being able to forgive people who had wronged him, could not forgive himself for what he had done. He never tried to reassure Nellie he'd never hurt her again because she wouldn't believe it and he was afraid she was right to disbelieve. She took care of him, but as much as she loved him, she couldn't change who he was.

They slowly rebuilt the happiness they'd had for a short time, both of them feeling as if they were trying to repair a priceless vase that had shattered on the floor. The pieces could be replaced and glued together, but the hairline cracks would always be there, a reminder of fragility and weakness. And yet, the pain caused by the awful night when Sweeney learned of Lucy's death introduced a brutal but intimate honesty into their relationship; there were no secrets, lies or delusions separating them now.

Not wanting to recall the last day Sweeney visited Fogg's Asylum, they never developed the nightly tradition of working the stress from each other's backs that had been proposed the Saturday before that fateful night. But new traditions developed; whenever Nellie flinched at a sudden movement from Sweeney, he would take her by the waist and kiss every scar he'd given her, always ending with the one on her neck. The topic of Nellie's impending death at Sweeney's hands came up more often; they developed little jests about it that anyone else would have found horrible. Sweeney found them horrible, too, at first, as he felt like Nellie was giving him permission to kill her, but he came to realize that Nellie's approach to tragedy—if you don't laugh at it, you'll cry—had some merit. Of course, these jokes were never discussed around Toby, who, despite his budding romance with Micaiah, refused to relinquish his faint suspicion and his protectiveness of Nellie.

Toby was still Nellie's apprentice and progressing very quickly, despite the fact that he was spending every possible second with Micaiah. Sometimes Nellie wondered if the girl had become part of his motivation to learn to bake; Toby would often bring treats to her, some of his own concoction, and he was always elated when Micaiah enjoyed one of his culinary creations. On some nights, Nellie and Sweeney would take their supper to the park, the way they had done a few times after their honeymoon, and see Toby and Micaiah walking hand-in-hand. Every Sunday, Toby went to church with Micaiah's family and bought her a bouquet of her favorite flowers—poppies—afterwards. On one Sunday when Nellie had forgotten to give Toby money for the poppies, she sent Sweeney after Toby once she'd realized her mistake. Sweeney not only gave Toby money to buy Micaiah's flowers, but he returned home with a bouquet of peach roses for Nellie. Peach roses, for appreciation and gratitude. They weren't red, but Nellie was still overjoyed; after all, he'd never bought her flowers before.

After that Sunday, the purchase of flowers became a tradition for Sweeney as well as Toby. It was only on the last Thursday of the month that Sweeney bought roses for Nellie, and it took her a while to figure out why; Sweeney had found out that Lucy was dead on the second-to-last Sunday of the month, then had stayed in bed for three days. It was on a Thursday that Nellie finally pulled him out of his sulk. Despite the fact that Sweeney Todd was, as Nellie put it, a creature of habit, the roses were not always the same color. The first and second times he gave roses to Nellie, they were peach. The third month Nellie received roses from him, they were pale pink, for gratitude but also grace; Sweeney had been remembering what Nellie looked like when she swam. The fourth month, the roses were deep pink; simply, "Thank you."

On that fourth Thursday, the sky was unusually clear at night. Nellie stood by the window with one of her deep pink roses, absentmindedly smelling it as she gazed up at the sky. She was wearing the indigo dress Sweeney had tried to give Lucy, and he stood at a distance from her for a moment, admiting how the gown fit her as if it had been made for her. Then he came up behind her; when she noticed him, she didn't turn around, just began speaking.

"Look out there, Sweeney. Would you 'ave a look at all those stars? I don't remember ever seein' so many."

At one point, Nellie probably would have run outside and begun dancing in the moonlight the moment she noticed the remarkable brilliance of the stars.

"Do you want to go outside and get a better look?"

She smiled up at him. In the silvery-blue light from the window, her scars were almost invisible. For a moment, he saw what she might have looked like before she'd met him; he couldn't remember with her without the scars, as he'd never paid much attention to her before the day he cut her face. But after he'd stopped mourning Lucy, he had gone around his and Nellie's room picking up the things that had fallen off the wall when he punched it, and one of those things had been a photograph of Nellie with her late husband. The date on the back of the photograph indicated that Nellie had been twenty when it was taken, and she'd been lovely enough to make him almost drop the picture when he first looked at it. "Yes, I do."

Nellie replaced the rose and walked outside, her head tilted all the way back to admire the stars, pinpoints of shimmering white in the black velvet sky. Sweeney followed her and took her hand.

"Did the stars look different in Australia?"

That was something else they did more of: discuss Sweeney's time in Botany Bay. He had become more comfortable when it came to talking about difficult topics with Nellie. "Yes. I can't see what's called the Southern Cross from here, for one thing." He paused. "There was another prisoner—Vincent, his name was—who knew the skies as well as I know barberin', or you know bakin'. He taught me the names of many stars and constellations."

"What's a conste…con…what-you-said?"

"Constellation. It's a group of stars that's been named. He taught me how to recognize only a few that I can see here; that was difficult, without…without this sky. He had to teach by description." He flung an arm up with an index finger pointing. "There's one that I think he taught me about. It's called the Plough. See, that very bright star, there? That's one of the corners. The handle is off to the side." He gestured at the "handle" of the constellation known to most as Ursa Major.

Nellie tilted her head to the side. "I think I see it, but it looks more like one of me measurin' cups than a plough. 'ow did your friend know the names of the…the…star groups in Australia? I'm certain there weren't nobody there studyin' the skies."

"Books, I believe."

"Per'aps we should read up on our sky. I mean, we live under it."

"Perhaps."

They stood in silence for a moment. Then Sweeney found himself remembering something else Vincent had taught him about the sky. Something about "universal music;" men of science had the idea that the celestial bodies moved according to some cosmic harmony. The music of the spheres. Sweeney wondered what it sounded like…

Nellie gave a startled little squeal as Sweeney suddenly took her waist with his free hand and began waltzing with her, despite the inopportune setting and lack of music. "Sweeney, what're you doin'?"

"The music of the spheres appears to be in three-quarter time."

"Music of the…? What the bloomin' 'ell are you on about?"

"Dance with me, pet."

She giggled and fell into the pattern of the dance, carefully following Sweeney at first, as he seemed to be hearing music that she couldn't. But she had a good sense of rhythm, and soon they were skillfully maneuvering around the tables, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation; only they would waltz around the tables in an ale garden because of an inaudible melodious inspiration from unusually bright stars.

When they reached the point where they'd started, Sweeney pulled Nellie into a tight embrace.

"For a murderer I can't trust with me life, you can be awful sweet."

He didn't feel like making a death jest, so he said, "For a woman I used to think was the most annoyin' thing on two feet, so can you."

"Now, did you stop believin' I was the most annoyin' thing on two feet before or after you met Hyacinth?"

They both laughed.

"Sweeney? Can I ask you somethin'?"

"What?"

"I want you to make me a promise. It's easier to keep than not 'urtin' me again, I think."

"What is it?"

"When you kill me…" Many of their jokes began with that sentence, but Nellie's tone was utterly serious. Sweeney listened. "…will you promise to do it while I'm sleepin'?"

"While you're sleepin'? Why?" Sweeney stepped back from their hug to look at her, and so she could see his confused expression.

She looked steadily at him while she spoke, giving the impression that she'd rehearsed this explanation, or at least given it much thought. "I know I've said I'd like you to be the last thing I see, but…I don't wan'na die thinkin' I couldn't make you 'appy. So when I do somethin' to anger you, or you just plain get sick of me, wait until I'm asleep to do me in, all right? I just don't want the last thing I think to be 'I failed the man I love.'"

"Pet, I know we banter about this, but I don't want to kill you."

"But you might." She took both his hands.

"What could you possibly do that would anger me enough to kill you? Lucy's already dead."

"I dun'no." She raised and lowered both shoulders. "I'm certain you'll think somethin' up. But I suppose I was thinkin' more about a few years down the line when you get sick of this withered old body."

"You are not anythin' approachin' 'withered.' I should know."

She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I want you to promise, just in case. Instead of sayin' _when _you kill me you'll do it while I'm sleepin', I'll say _if _you kill me, if that suits you better."

"Nellie, I…"

"Please, love." She kissed the knuckles on his left hand, then his right. "Please promise me this. I know you ain't got the best record with promises, but this one ain't too bad, right?"

Sweeney hesitated. Making that promise seemed like admitting he would be the death of her, more so than their macabre teasing.

"Please."

He hugged her close again. "All right. I promise."

She exhaled heavily, as if she'd been holding her breath as she waited for his answer. "Thanks, love."

Sweeney closed his eyes. He found himself praying that the day he would have to honor that promise would never come. What would he do without Nellie, anyway? He couldn't even sleep without her next to him. "You're welcome."

"Sweeney?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you love me?" And since she knew he was unskilled at open-ended questions, she added, "It is 'cause I'm too different from Lucy? Or does Sweeney Todd just not love anybody?"

"It's not 'cause you're different from Lucy," he said instantly. "If…if I don't love you, then who the hell else would I love?"

"So you think it's the second one?"

"Yes." He moved one hand to her hair, which he never tired of touching. "There just…there's not enough human in Sweeney Todd to love."

"Well, that makes sense. You can't stand 'umans." She chuckled lightly. "Eh…you care about me, at least a bit. That's good enough."

They stayed outside for a long time, holding each other. Then they broke apart in unrehearsed synchrony and walked hand-in-hand back inside. Sweeney told himself over and over not to worry too much about what they were both afraid was a grim future. No matter what lay ahead of them, for now, what they had was enough.

* * *

A/N: Well, Sweeney does hear music that nobody heard, right?

There you go. This is the happier ending that was originally planned, although I still think the more tragic ending fits better. The only parallel between the canon story and this ending is the waltzing which ends with a discussion of Nellie's death rather than Sweeney killing her.

And with this, _Blade of Madness _is complete! I still have plenty of fanfiction ideas and far too many malicious plot bunnies, but for the last several summers I've cheated my original fiction novels for the sake of fanfiction, so don't expect much more—if anything—from me until school starts again.


End file.
